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The Madcap of the School 





BLACKIE & SON LIMITED 
50 Old Bailey, London 
17 Stanhope Street, Glasgow 

BLACKIE & SON (INDIA) LIMITED 
Warwick House, Fort Street, Bombay 

BLACKIE & SON (CANADA) LIMITED 
1 1 1 8 Bay Street, Toronto 


The 

Madcap of the School 


BY 

ANGELA BRAZIL 

Author of “The Luckiest Girl in the School" 
"The Jolliest Term on Record" 

“ For the Sake of the School " 

&c. &c. 


Illustrated by Balliol Salmon 


BLACKIE & SON LIMITED 

LONDON AND GLASGOW 



My Own Schooldays. 

\ ' i- i 

Ruth of St^Ronan’s. 

Joan's Best Chum. 

Captain Peggie. 

Schoolgirl Kitty. 

The School in the South. 
Monitress Merle. 

Loyal to the School. 

A Fortunate Term. 

A Popular Schoolgirl. 

The Princess of the School. 

A Harum-Scarum Schoolgirl. 
The Head Girl at the Gables. 

A Patriotic Schoolgirl. 

For the School Colours. 

The Madcap of the School. 

The Luckiest Girl in the School. 
The Jolliest Term on Record. 
The Girls of St. Cyprian’s. 

The Youngest Girl in the Fifth. 
The New Girl at St. Chad’s. 

For the Sake of the School. 

The School by the Sea. 

The Leader of the Lower School. 
A Pair of Schoolgirls. 

A Fourth Form Friendship. 

The Manor House School. 

The Nicest Girl in the School. 
The Third Form at Miss Kaye’s. 
The Fortunes of Philippa. 


Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son , Ltd. Glasgow 



Contents 


Chap. 

I. 

The Moated Grange - 


. 




Pape 

9 

II. 

The Mystic Seven 






21 

III. 

The Limberlost - 






38 

IV. 

Raymonde Explores - 






5 * 

V. 

Fifth-Form Tactics - 






59 

VI. 

A Midnight Scare 






67 

VII. 

The Crystal Gazers - 






78 

VIII. 

The Beano - 






9 1 

IX. 

A Week on the Land 






107 

X. 

The Campers 






"5 

XI. 

Canteen Assistants - 






124 

XII. 

Amateur Detectives - 






i 37 

XIII. 

Camp Hospitality 






153 

XIV. 

Concerns Cynthia 






165 

XV. 

On the River 






i 73 

XVI. 

Marooned - 






188 

XVII. 

The Fossil Hunters • 






202 

XVIII. 

Mademoiselle 

b 






216 


6 


Contents 


Chap. 

XIX. 

A Mysterious Happening - 

- 


Page 

- 22 7 

XX. 

The Coon Concert ■ 

- 


• 238 

XXI. 

The Blinded Soldiers’ Fund - 

- 

- 

’ 253 

XXII. 

An Accusation .... 

- 

- 

- 264 

XXIII. 

A Mystery Unravelled - 


- 

' 275 


Illustrations 


Pago 

'The girls put their united lung power into the 

LOUDEST HALLOO OF WHICH THEY WERE CAPABLE ” 

Frontispiece 198 

“The PASSAGE WAS very dark, but Morvyth had 

BROUGHT HER ELECTRIC TORCH ” - - - - 74 

“Raymonds drew a long breath of intense re- 
lief, AND PEEPED OUT ” 149 

‘“Gracious, girl! Turn off the waterworks !’ ” 17- 

“ Fauvette in particular looked ravishingly 

pretty” 1 81 

“The door opened with a forcible jerk, and a 

stranger entered ” 283 




THE MADCAP OF THE 
SCHOOL 


CHAPTER I 

The Moated Grange 

“ Here they are!” 

“ Not really!” 

“ It is, I tell you!” 

i jubilate! You’re right, old sport! Scooterons- 
nous this very sec! Quick! Hurry! Stir your 
old bones, can’t you?” 

The two girls, who had been standing in the 
ruined watch-tower that spanned the gateway, tore 
down the broken corkscrew staircase at a speed 
calculated to imperil their necks seriously, and 
reached the bottom at the identical moment that 
a motor char-a-banc rounded the corner and drew 
up in front of the entrance. Sixteen jolly faces 
were grinning under sixteen school hats, and at 
least a dozen excited voices were pouring forth 
a perfect babel of exclamations. 

“ How ripping!” 

“ Oh, I say!” 


9 


10 


The Madcap of the School 

“ This is top-hole !” 

“What a chubby place!” 

“ I’d no idea it would be like this!” 

“Oh, hold me up! This child’s knocked over 
entirely!” 

The opening day of a fresh term is always more 
or less of an event, but this particular reunion was 
a thrillingly important occasion, for during the 
Easter holidays the school had removed, and the 
girls were now having their first peep at their new 
quarters. 

The vision that greeted them through the old 
gateway was certainly calculated to justify their 
ecstatic remarks. A grassy courtyard, interspersed 
with box-edged flower beds and flagged footpaths, 
led to a large, gray old Tudor house, whose mul- 
lioned diamond-paned windows, twisted chimney 
stacks, irregular moss-grown roof, ivied bell-tower, 
stone balls and carved porch offered the very utmost 
of the romantic and picturesque. The change from 
the humdrum, ordinary surroundings of their former 
school was supreme. Miss Beasley had promised 
them a pleasant surprise, and she had undoubtedly 
kept her word. The sixteen new arrivals grasped 
their handbags and small possessions, and set off 
up the flagged pathway with delight written large 
on their countenances. Raymonde Armitage and 
Aveline Kerby, in virtue of half an hour’s longer 
acquaintance with the premises, trotted alongside 
and did the honours. 

“Yes, it’s topping ! Regular old country mansion 
sort of a place. Might have come straight, slap- 
bang out of a novel! You should see the Bumble 
Bee! I can tell you she’s pleased with life! Buz- 


1 1 


The Moated Grange 

zing about no end! Even the Wasp’s got a smile 
on! Fact! You needn’t look so incredulous. I’m 
not ragging.” 

‘ ‘ It’s true, ” confirmed Ray monde. ‘ * The W asp’s 
quite jinky to-day. Actually said ‘ my dear ’ to me 
when I arrived. Of course, Mother was there, but 
even then it gave me spasms. Gibbie, of all people 
in this wide world, to call me ‘ my dear’! 1 nearly 
collapsed! ‘Goodness! what next?’ I thought. 
‘Wonders will never cease!”’ 

“ Gibbie’s certainly not given to trotting out pet 
names, even before parents,” chirruped Morvyth 
Holmes. “ Perhaps she’s striking out a new line, 
and we shall all be ‘ Darling ’ and ‘ Sweetest ’ 
now!” 

“Don’t you alarm yourself! She couldn’t twist 
her tongue round them. I’d think she was pining 
away to an early death if she did! You’ll hear 
plenty of plain, straight, wholesome talking-to 
before you’re half an hour older, my child, or else 
I’m entirely mistaken.” 

“ You will, old sport, unless you’ve mended your 
ways,” chuckled Morvyth. “Are you a reformed 
character this term, may I ask? Come back with 
a certificate for good behaviour — no vice, gentle in 
harness, a child can drive her, etcetera?” 

“Help! The school would die of dullness if I 
did! You’d be positively bored to tears. No, we 
all have our talents, and I consider my mission in 
life is to keep things humming and cheer you all 
up. I may do it at some personal sacrifice, 
but ” 

“Personal thingumjig!” interrupted Valentine 
Gorton. 


12 


The Madcap of the School 

“But it is!” persisted Raymonde, her dark eyes 
dancing. “You don’t know how disinterested I 
am. Gibbie can’t row us all at once, and when 
I draw fire on myself I save you. See? I’m a 
kind of scapegoat for the school. Everybody’s 
sins are stuck on to me. Gibbie lets forth the vials 
of her wrath, the storm’s over, she feels better, and 
nobody else is much the worse.” 

“ Not even you — you heroic victim?” 

“ Bless you, child, I’m as used to scolding as 
eels to skinning. Neither the Bumble Bee nor 
the Wasp worry me. I let them both buzz. It 
seems to please them! Indeed, I think they expect 
it. When one’s got a reputation, one’s bound to 
live up to it.” 

Raymonde Armitage would certainly not have 
won a medal for exemplary behaviour, had any 
such prize been offered at the school. There was 
no harm in her, but her irrepressible spirits were 
continually at effervescing point, and in fizzing 
over were liable to burst into outbreaks of a nature 
highly scandalizing to the authorities. As regarded 
Miss Beasley, the Principal, though she upheld 
discipline firmly, it was an open secret that she 
had a sneaking weakness for Raymonde. “The 
Bumble Bee rows Ray, but she likes her,” was 
the general verdict. With Miss Gibbs, however, 
it was a different matter. The humour of a situa- 
tion never appealed to her. She frankly considered 
her troublesome pupil as a thorn in the flesh, and 
perhaps gave her credit for more than she really 
deserved in the way of blame. It was whispered 
in the school that several enterprising spirits had 
managed to shift on to Raymonde’s shoulders the 


*3 


The Moated Grange 

consequences of their own crimes, with results more 
satisfactory to themselves than to their lively class- 
mate. In spite of the fact that she had passed her 
fifteenth birthday, Raymonde was the most irre- 
sponsible creature in the world. She looked it. 
Her face was as round and smooth as an infant’s, 
with an absurd little dab of a nose, a mouth with 
baby dimples at the corners, and small white teeth 
that seemed more like first than second ones, and 
dark eyes which, when they did not happen to be 
twinkling, were capable of putting on a bewitching 
innocence of expression calculated to deceive almost 
any teacher, however experienced, save the case- 
hardened Miss Gibbs. 

At the beginning of this term there were twenty- 
six girls in the little community assembled at Mar- 
lowe Grange. The old house provided ample 
accommodation, and had been easily adapted to 
meet the wants of a school. Built originally in 
Elizabethan days, it had been added to at various 
times, and its medley of architecture, while hope- 
lessly confusing styles, had resulted in a very 
picturesque and charming whole. Perhaps the 
most ancient part was the fortified gateway, ruin- 
ous and covered with ivy, but still preserving its 
winding stair leading to an upper story that 
spanned the entrance. With its tiny loophole 
windows and its great solid oak gate with the little 
door cut through, it had the aspect of a mediaeval 
fortress, and was a fitting introduction to what was 
to follow. High walls on both sides enclosed the 
courtyard, and farther on, to the right of the house, 
was another quaint garden, where shaved yew trees 
and clipped hollies presented distorted imitations 


14 The Madcap of the School 

of peacocks, umbrellas, pagodas, or other ambitious 
examples of topiary art. Here, in the late April 
weather, spring bulbs were blooming, wallflowers 
made a sheet of gold, and the pear trees were open- 
ing pure white blossoms. Little clumps of pansies, 
pink daisies, and forget-me-nots were struggling 
up, rather mixed amongst the box edging, and 
a bank of white alyssum on the rockery near the 
hives provided a feast of nectar for the bees, whose 
drowsy hum seemed to hold all the promise of the 
coming summer. 

Behind this garden, and sheltered by the out- 
buildings from the north and east winds, lay the 
orchard, neglected and unpruned, but very beauti- 
ful with its moss-grown apple trees, its straggling 
plums, and budding walnuts, and cherries just burst- 
ing into an ethereal fairy network of delicate palest 
pink bloom. Primroses grew here amongst the 
grass, and clumps of dog violets and little tufts of 
bluebells were pushing their way up to take the 
place of the fading daffodils, while a blackthorn 
bush was a mass of pure white stars. At the far 
end, instead of a hedge, lay the moat, a shallow 
stagnant pool, bordered with drooping willows, 
tall reeds, and rushes that reared their spear-like 
stems from the dark oozy water. Originally this 
moat had encircled the mansion as a means of 
defence, but now, like the ruined gateway, its 
mission was long past, and it survived, a sleepy 
witness to the warfare of our forefathers, and a 
picturesque adjunct to the general beauty of the 
place that could scarcely be surpassed. From the 
farther side of the moat peaceful meadows led to 
the river, where between high wooded banks a 


•5 


The Moated Grange 

stately silver stream glided slowly and tranquilly on 
in its path towards the ocean, rippling over weirs, 
and bearing on its calm bosom an occasional 
pleasure boat, punt, or fussy little motor yacht. 

The interior of the old Grange was quaint as its 
exterior. The large rooms lent themselves admir- 
ably to school uses. The big hall, with its oak- 
panelled walls, stained -glass windows, and huge 
fireplace, made an excellent lecture-room, or, when 
the forms were moved to one end, provided plenty 
of space for drilling or dancing. It seemed strange 
certainly to turn an Elizabethan bedroom into a 
twentieth -century classroom, and standard desks 
looked decidedly at variance with the carved chim- 
ney-pieces or the stags’ antlers that still orna- 
mented the walls; but the modern element only 
seemed to enhance the old, and the girls agreed 
that nothing could be more suitable than to learn 
history in such a setting. 

“ It’ll give us a loophole for lots of our lessons,” 
remarked Raymonde hopefully, as she personally 
conducted a party of new arrivals over the establish- 
ment. “ For instance, if I get muddled over circu- 
lating decimals, I’ll explain that my brains fall 
naturally into a mediaeval groove in these sur- 
roundings, and decimals weren’t invented then, 
so that of course it’s impossible for me to grasp 
them; and the same with geography — the map of 
Africa then had about three names on it, so it’s 
quite superfluous to try to remember any more. 
I’m going to cultivate the mental atmosphere of 
the place and focus my mind accordingly. I’ll 
concentrate on the Elizabethan period of history, 
and the rest I’ll just ignore.” 


16 The Madcap of the School 

“ Don’t know how you’ll convince Gibbie!” 
chuckled Muriel Fuller. 

“You leave Gibbie to me! My mind’s seething 
with ideas. It’s absolutely chock full. I see possi- 
bilities that I never even dreamt of at the old school. 
I believe this term’s going to be the time of my 
life. Bless the dear old Bumble Bee! She’s 
buzzed to some purpose in bringing us here!” 

Perhaps what struck the girls most of all was 
the large dormitory. In the days of the French 
Revolution Marlowe Grange had been the refuge 
of an order of nuns, who had escaped from Limoges 
and founded a temporary convent in the old house. 
It was owing to the excellence of their arrange- 
ments, and the structural improvements which they 
had left behind them, that the Grange had been so 
eminently suitable for a school. Seven little bed- 
rooms placed side by side served exactly to accom- 
modate the members of the Sixth Form, while the 
great chamber, running from end to end of the 
house, with its nineteen snow-white beds, provided 
quarters for the rank and file. Just for a moment 
the girls had stared rather aghast at their vast 
dormitory, contrasting it with the numerous small 
rooms of their former school; but the possibilities 
of fun presented by this congregation of beds out- 
weighed the disadvantages, and they had decided 
that the arrangement was “topping”. It had, 
however, one serious drawback. At the far end 
was a small extra chamber, intended originally for 
the use of the Mother Superior of the convent, and 
here, to the girls’ infinite dismay, Miss Gibbs had 
taken up her abode. There was no mistake about 
it. Her box blocked the doorway; her bag, labelled 


i7 


The Moated Grange 

“ M. Gibbs. Passenger to Great Marlowe via 
Littleton Junction ”, reposed upon a chair, her 
hat and coat lay on the bed, and a neat time- 
table of classes was already pinned upon the wall. 

“We didn’t bargain to have the Wasp at such 
close quarters!’’ whispered Ardiune Coleman- 
Smith ruefully. “ She’ll sleep with both ears 
open, and if we stir a finger or breathe a word 
she’ll hear!” 

“Cheero! There are ways of making people 
deaf,” remarked Raymonde sanguinely. “How? 
Ah, my child, that’s a surprise for the future! 
D’you suppose ” (with a cryptic shake of the head) 
“ I’m going to give away my professional secrets? 
I’ve told you already it’s my mission to enliven 
this school, and if you don’t have a jinky term I’ll 
consider myself a failure. Haven’t I started well? 
I arrived half an hour before everyone else, and 
booked up all the beds on the far side for our 
set. Here you are! A label’s pinned to each 
pillow!” 

The six kindred spirits who revolved as satel- 
lites in Raymonde’s orbit turned to her with a 
gush of admiration. It was a brilliant thought to 
have labelled the beds, and so secured the most 
eligible portion of the dormitory for themselves. 

“You’re the limit, Ray!” gurgled Aveline. 

Aveline was generally regarded as Raymonde’s 
under-study. She was not so clever, so daring, or 
so altogether reckless, but she came in a very good 
second-best in most of the harum-scarum escapades. 
She could always be relied upon for support, could 
keep a secret, and had a peculiarly convenient 
knack of baffling awkward questions by putting 

(0 887) 2 


18 The Madcap of the School 

on an attitude of utter stolidity. When her eyes 
were half-closed under their heavy lids, and her 
mouth wore what the girls called its ‘ ‘ John Bull” 
expression, not even Miss Beasley herself could 
drag information out of Aveline. The Sphinx, as 
she was sometimes nicknamed, prided herself on 
her accomplishment, and took particular care to 
maintain her character. Raymonde had appor- 
tioned the bed on her right to Aveline, and that 
on her left to Fauvette Robinson, who occupied 
about an equal place in her affections. 

Fauvette was a little, blue-eyed, fluffy-haired, 
clinging, cuddly, ultra-feminine specimen who 
hung on to Raymonde like a limpet. Raymonde 
twisted her flaxen locks for her in curl rags, helped 
to thread baby ribbon through her under-bodices, 
hauled her out of bed in the mornings, drummed 
her lessons into her, formed her opinions, and 
generally dominated her school career. Fauvette 
was one of those girls who all their lives lean upon 
somebody, and at present she had twined herself, 
an ornamental piece of honeysuckle, round the stout 
oak prop of Raymonde’s stronger personality. She 
was a dear, amiable, sweet-tempered little soul, 
highly romantic and sentimental, with a pretty 
soprano voice, and just a sufficient talent for acting 
to make her absolutely invaluable in scenes from 
Dickens or Jane Austen, where a heroine of the 
innocent, pleading, pathetic, babyish, Early Vic- 
torian type was required. 

A more spicy character was Morvyth Holmes, 
otherwise “The Kipper”. Her pale face and shin- 
ing hazel eyes showed cleverness. When she 
cared to work she could astonish her Form and her 


>9 


The Moated Grange 

teacher, but her energy came in such odd bursts, 
and with such long lapses between, that it did not 
in the aggregate amount to much. It was rumoured 
in the school that Miss Beasley had her eye on 
Morvyth as a possible candidate for public exami- 
nations, and, in fear lest such an honour might be 
thrust upon her, Morvyth was careful to avoid the 
display of too deep erudition. 

“ It wouldn’t do,” she assured her chums. 
“ Catch me swatting for the Senior Oxford like 
poor old Meta and Daphne. I tell you those girls 
will hardly enjoy a decent game of tennis this 
term. The Bumble Bee’s got their wretched noses 
on the grindstone, and they’ll have a blighting 
time till the affair’s over. No, I’m a wary bird, 
and I’m not going to be decoyed into an intellectual 
trap and dished up for examination. Not even the 
Essay Prize shall tempt me! You may win it 
yourself, Ray, if you like!” 

“Poor old Kipper!” murmured Raymonde. 
“ It’s a little rough on you that you daren’t exhibit 
your talents. Can’t you show a doctor’s certificate 
prohibiting you from entering for public exams, 
and limiting your prep.? The kind of thing one 
brings back to school after scarlet fever, you know.” 

Morvyth shook her head dolefully. 

“It’s no go! The Bumble would be capable of 
sending for the doctor and thrashing the matter 
out with him. My only safety lies in modesty. 
No school laurels for me. They cost too dear.” 

Valentine Gorton and Ardiune Coleman-Smith, 
known familiarly as “Salt” and “Pepper”, were 
inseparable friends in spite of the fact that they 
quarrelled on an average at least three times a day. 


20 


The Madcap of the School 

Their tiffs were very easily made up, however, and 
they always supported each other in upsets with 
anyone else, merging what might be termed tribal 
disputes in national warfare. Being well supplied 
from home with chocolates, and liberal in their 
dispensation, they were favourites in their Form, 
and indeed throughout the school wore the hall- 
mark of popularity. 

Raymonde’s particular set of chums was com- 
pleted by Katherine Harding, a damsel whose 
demure looks belied her character. Katherine’s 
innocent grey eyes and doll-like complexion were 
the vineyards that hide the volcano. She could 
always be relied upon to support any enterprising 
project or interesting hoax that was presented for 
her approval. These seven comrades, close chums 
in the past, banded themselves together anew to 
enjoy life to the best of their ability, and to obtain 
the maximum of fun and diversion out of the forth- 
coming term. It is with their immediate adven- 
tures that this book is largely concerned. 


CHAPTER II 


The Mystic Seven 

‘ D’you know,” said Morvyth, flopping down dis- 
gustedly on to a form, and addressing an interested 
audience of three; “ d’you know, my children, that 
I consider these two new girls the very limit?” 

“ Absolute blighters!” agreed Raymonde hastily, 
“I was thinking so myself only this morning. I 
can’t decide which is the worst.” 

“ Not a pin to choose between them !” commented 
Aveline with a yawn. 

“ I gave Cynthia Greene credit for shyness during 
the first twenty-four hours,” continued Morvyth. 
“I thought in my own mind, ‘the poor thing is 
suffering, no doubt, from home-sickness and general 
confusion, and we must be gentle with her’, but 
I kept a wary eye upon her, and I’ve come to a 
conclusion. It’s not shyness — it’s swank!” 

Ardiune nodded her head approvingly. 

“Swank, and nothing else,” she confirmed. “ I 
know something about it too, for I heard her ex- 
pounding to her own Form this morning. It 
almost made me ill. I had to take a run round 
the garden before I felt fit again. It seems she’s 
come from some much smaller school, where she’s 
been the head girl and show pupil, and the rest 
of it. She said the younger ones had all looked 
21 


22 The Madcap of the School 

up to her, and the Principal had treated her as a 
friend, and that she’d always worked hard to keep 
up the tone of the place.” 

“ O Sophonisba!” ejaculated Raymonde. “ Well, 
it strikes me we’ve got the tone of this school to 
look after. We can’t allow Fourth Form kids to 
bring those notions and run them here. She won’t 
find herself queen of this establishment!” 

“ Hardly!” chuckled Aveline. 

“ Aren’t her own Form attending to the matter?” 
enquired Morvyth. 

“ Naturally. They’re giving her as bad a time 
as they know how, but they don’t make much head- 
way. She tells them she fully expects to be ragged, 
and she simply won’t believe a word they say. 
They haven’t taken her in once yet.” 

“ That’s because they’re not skilful,” said Ray- 
monde thoughtfully. “ They don’t do the thing 
artistically. There’s a finesse required for this 
kind of work that their stupid young heads don’t 
possess. I’m not sure if it wouldn’t be philanthro- 
pic to help them !” 

“Set your own house in order first!” grunted 
Ardiune. “You’ll have your hands full with 
Maudie Hey wood.” 

“ I’m not going to neglect Maudie; don’t alarm 
yourself! She’s the best specimen of the genus 
prig that I’ve ever come across in the course of my 
life. She ought to have a Form all to herself, 
instead of being plumped into the Fifth. I see 
dangerous possibilities in Maudie. Do you realize 
what she did this morning? Learnt the whole of 
that wretched poem instead of only the twenty lines 
that were set us,” 


The Mystic Seven 23 

“I heard Gibbie complimenting her, and thought 
she’d get swelled head.” 

‘‘Swelled head indeed! It’s the principle that’s 
involved. Don’t you see that if this girl goes and 
learns whole poems, Gibbie’ll think we can do the 
same, and she’ll give us more next time. It’s 
raising the standard of work in the Form.” 

“Great Minerva! So it is!” 

“We’ll have to put a stopper on that,” urged 
Aveline indignantly. 

“There are a good many things that have given 
me spasms since I came back,” proclaimed Ray- 
monde. “They’re things that ought to be set 
right. What I vote is, that our set form ourselves 
into a sort of Watch Committee to attend to any 
little matters of this sort. It would be a kindness 
to the school.” 

Ardiune chuckled softly. 

“By all means! Let us be the Red Cross 
Knights, and go out to right the wrong. We’ll 
attack Duessa straight away, and teach her to mend 
her morals. You’ll let Val be in it?” 

“Rather! And Fauvette and Katherine. Seven’s 
a mystic number. You know there were the Seven 
Champions of Christendom, and there are the Seven 
Ages of Man, and the Seven Days of Creation, and 
seven years of apprenticeship, and — and ” 

“Seven deadly sins!” suggested Aveline cheer- 
fully. “And the Seven Vials — and ” 

“Well, anyhow it’s always seven, so we’ll make 
ourselves into a society. We’ll have a star with 
seven rays for our secret sign. It has a nice 
occult kind of smack about it. When we chalk 
that mark upon anybody’s desk, it means we’ve 


24 The Madcap of the School 

got to reform her, whether she likes it or whether 
she doesn’t.” 

“She probably won’t,” twinkled Ardiune. 

“Then the sooner she submits the better. She’ll 
find it’s no use fighting against fate — otherwise the 
Mystic Seven!” 

“We’ll start business with Cynthia Greene to- 
morrow,” decided Aveline. 

Fauvette, Valentine, and Katherine were duly 
informed of the existence of the new society and 
their initiation thereinto. They offered no objec- 
tions, and indeed would have been prepared at 
Raymonde’s request to join a Black Brotherhood, 
or a Pirates’ League with a skull and cross-bones 
for its emblem. A special committee meeting was 
held to discuss the matter of Cynthia Greene. 

“It needs finesse,” said Morvyth. “She’s been 
to school before, and she’s up to most dodges. 
Naturally she comprehends that her own Form 
are trying to rag her.” 

“That’s where we come in,” agreed Raymonde. 
“We’re going to pose as philanthropists. One 
or two of us have got to take Cynthia up. We’ll 
make her realize, of course, how very kind it is of 
Fifth Form girls to befriend a lonely junior.” 

“And having taken her up — what then?” queried 
Fauvette. 

“Bless your innocence, child! Why, we’ll let 
her down with a run!” 

“Are we all in it?” 

“No; it would be too marked. Best leave the 
affair to Aveline and me. You others must stand 
aloof and look disinterested but sympathetic. I’ll 
speak to her at lunch-time.” 


2 5 


The Mystic Seven 

During the mid-morning interval, therefore, Ray- 
monde singled out her victim. Cynthia was stand- 
ing slightly apart from her Form, consuming thick 
bread and butter with an air of pensive melan- 
choly, and twisting a pet bracelet that adorned her 
wrist. Raymonde strolled up casually. 

“Getting on all right?” she began, by way of 
opening the attack. “ I say, you know, I thought 
I’d just speak to you. I expect you’re having a 
grizzly time with those wretched juniors. They’re 
a set of blighters, aren’t they?” 

“ I do find them a little trying,” admitted Cynthia 
cautiously, “especially as I was head girl at my 
old school.” 

“Rather a climb-down from Senior to Junior, 
isn’t it? Why didn’t Miss Beasley put you in the 
Fifth?” 

“ My mother asked her to, but she said as I was 
only thirteen it was quite impossible. It’s all right. 
I expect to be ragged a little at first. I’ll live it 
down in time.” 

Cynthia’s expression of patient resignation was 
almost too much for Raymonde, but she controlled 
her countenance and continued: 

“They’ll respect you all the more afterwards, no 
doubt.” 

“ I hope so. We didn’t rag new girls at The 
Poplars. I always made a point of showing them 
they were welcome. It seemed only fair to Miss 
Gordon. She was more like a personal friend than 
a teacher, and she looked to me, you see, to keep 
up the tone of the school.” 

“ She must be lost without you!” 

“I think they’ll miss me,” admitted Cynthia, 


26 The Madcap of the School 

with a little fluttering sigh of regret. “The girls 
all subscribed before I left and gave me this brace- 
let as a keepsake. It’s got an inscription inside. 
Would you like to look at it?” 

Cynthia had unclasped her treasure, and handed 
it with an assumed nonchalance for Raymonde’s 
inspection. On the gold band was engraved: “To 
Cynthia Greene, a token of esteem from her school- 
fellows”. 

“Highly gratifying!” gurgled Raymonde. 

“ It was sweet of them, wasn’t it? Well, I tried 
to do my best for them, and I’ll do my best for this 
school too when I get the chance. I’m in no hurry. 
I’m content to wait, and let the girls come round.” 

“Quite the best plan. In the meantime, if there 
are any little tips I can give you, come to me.” 

“Thanks awfully! I will. I’d have done the 
same by you if you’d been a new girl at The 
Poplars.” 

Raymonde retired bubbling over with suppressed 
mirth. 

“That girl’s the limit!” she reported to her con- 
federates. “For calm self-complacency I’ve never 
seen anybody to equal her. The idea of imagining 
me as a new girl at her wretched pettifogging old 
school! Oh, it’s too precious! She’d patronize the 
Queen herself! The Poplars must be executing a 
war-dance for joy to have got rid of her. Probably 
they’d have subscribed for more than a bracelet to 
pass her on elsewhere!” 

“So she’s waiting patiently till she wins the 
school,” hinnied Aveline. “Poor angel! Did 
you notice her wings sprouting, or a halo glowing 
round her head?” 


27 


The Mystic Seven 

“ I think we can put her up to a few tips,” 
chuckled Ardiune. 

“It would only be kind,” gushed Raymonde. 
“The sort of thing she must have done herself 
hundreds of times to many a poor neglected new 
girl at The Poplars. The bread she cast upon the 
waters shall be returned to her.” 

“With butter on it!” added Aveline. 

“She can swallow any amount of butter,” ob- 
served Raymonde. “ She evidently likes it laid on 
thick. Suggestions invited, please, for kind and 
disinterested advice to be administered to her.” 

“ Professor Marshall comes to-morrow,” volun- 
teered Aveline. 

“The very thing! Ave, you old sport, you’ve 
given me an idea! Now just prepare your minds 
for a pretty and touching little scene at the begin- 
ning of the mediaeval arts lecture. No, I shan’t 
tell you what it is beforehand. It’ll be something 
for you to look forward to ! ” 

The staff at Marlowe Grange consisted of Miss 
Beasley, Miss Gibbs, and Mademoiselle, but there 
were several visiting masters and mistresses who 
had attended at the former house, and were now to 
continue their instructions at the school in its pre- 
sent quarters. Among these Professor Marshall 
was rather a favourite. As befitted a teacher in an 
establishment of young ladies, he was grey-haired 
and elderly, and, as the girls added, “ married and 
guaranteed not to flirt”, but all the same he was 
jolly, had a hearty, affable manner, and a habit of 
making bad jokes and weak puns to break up the 
monotony of his lectures. It was decidedly the 
fashion to admire him, to snigger indulgently at 


28 The Madcap of the School 

his mild little pleasantries, and to call him “an old 
dear Some of the girls even worked quite hard 
at their preparation for him. He had written his 
autograph in at least nineteen birthday books, and 
it was rumoured that, when the auspicious ioth of 
March had come round, no less than fourteen anony- 
mous congratulatory picture post-cards had been 
directed to him from the school and posted by 
stealth. Having already improved their minds 
upon a course of English Classics and Astronomy, 
the school this term was booked for culture, and 
devoted to the study of the fine arts of the Middle 
Ages. A few selected members of the Sixth had 
been told off to search through back numbers of The 
Studio and The Connoisseur for examples of the 
paintings of Cimabue and Giotto, and the large 
engraving of Botticelli’s “Spring”, which used to 
hang in Miss Beasley’s study, now occupied a 
prominent position on the dining-room wall to 
afford a mental feast during meal-times. 

Raymonde, anxious not to overdo things, left 
Cynthia to herself for the rest of the day; but the 
following morning, after breakfast, she seized an 
opportunity for a few words with her. 

“You won’t mind my giving you a hint or two 
on school etiquette?” she observed casually. “You 
see, there are traditions in every school that one 
likes to keep up, and of course you can’t find them 
out unless you’re told.” 

“ I’d be very glad,” gushed Cynthia gratefully. 
“We’d a regular code at The Poplars, and I used 
to initiate everybody. They always came straight 
to me, and I coached them up. I can’t tell you 
how many new girls I’ve helped in my time!” 


29 


The Mystic Seven 

“Well, you’re new yourself now,” said Ray- 
monde, detaching Cynthia’s mind from these re- 
miniscences of past service and bringing it up to 
date. “ Professor Marshall’s coming to-day, and 
you’ll have to be introduced to him.” 

“Oh dear! I’m so shy! I wonder what he’ll 
think of me?” fluttered Cynthia. 

“Think you’re the sickliest idiot he ever met!” 
was on the tip of Raymonde’s tongue, but she 
restrained herself, and, drawing her victim aside, 
whispered honeyed words calculated to soothe and 
cheer, adding some special items of good advice. 

“Thank you,” sighed Cynthia. “ I won’t forget. 
Of course, we never did such a thing at The Pop- 
lars, but, if it’s expected, I won’t break the traditions 
of the school. You can always depend upon me in 
that respect.” 

Precisely at 11.30 the whole of the school was 
assembled in the big hall awaiting the presence of 
their lecturer. Professor Marshall, who had been 
regaling himself with lunch in Miss Beasley’s study, 
now made his appearance, escorted by the head mis- 
tress, and apparently refreshed by cocoa and con- 
versation. The girls always agreed that his manners 
were beautiful. He treated everybody with a courtly 
deference, something between the professional con- 
sideration of a fashionable doctor and the dignity of 
an archdeacon. After Miss Gibbs’s uncompromis- 
ing attitude, the contrast was marked. He entered 
the room smiling, bowed a courteous good morning 
to his pupils, who rose to receive him, and placed a 
chair for Miss Beasley with gentlemanly attention. 

The Principal, radiant after showing off her new 
quarters, refused it with equal politeness. 


30 The Madcap of the School 

“No, thank you, Professor. I’m not going to 
stay. I have other work to do. You will find your 
class the same as before, with the addition of two 
new girls. Maude Hey wood — come here, Maudie! 
—and Cynthia Greene. I hope they’ll both prove 
good workers.” 

Maudie Heywood, blushing like a lobster, 
stepped forward and thrust three limp fingers for 
a fraction of a second into the Professor’s large 
clasp, then thankfully merged her identity among 
her schoolfellows. Cynthia, who was behind her, 
smiled bewitchingly upwards into the florid, bene- 
volent face of her new instructor, then, falling 
gracefully upon one knee, seized his hand and 
touched it with her lips. 

The sensation in the room was immense. The 
Professor, looking decidedly astonished and embar- 
rassed, hastily withdrew his hand from the affec- 
tionate salutation. Miss Beasley’s eyes were round 
with horror. 

“Cynthia!” she exclaimed, and the tone of her 
voice alone was sufficient reproof. 

The luckless Cynthia, instantly conscious that 
her act had been misconstrued, retired with less 
grace than she had come forward, and spent most 
of the lecture in surreptitiously mopping her eyes. 
As she walked dejectedly down the corridor after- 
wards, she was accosted by Hermione Graveson, a 
member of the Sixth. 

“Look here!” said Hermione briefly. “What 
prompted you to make such an utter exhibition of 
yourself just now? I never saw anything more 
sickening in my life!” 

Cynthia’s tears burst forth afresh. 


3i 


The Mystic Seven 

“ It wasn’t my fault,” she sobbed. “I didn’t 
want to do it, but I was told it was school etiquette 
and I must.” 

“Who told you such rubbish?” 

“That girl with the dark eyes and a patriotic hair 
ribbon.” 

“ Raymonde Armitage?” 

“ I believe that’s her name.” 

Hermie shook her head solemnly. 

“New girls are notoriously callow,” she re- 
marked, “ but I should have thought anybody with 
the slightest grain of sense could have seen at a 
glance what Raymonde is. Why, she’s simply 
been playing ragtime on you. Did you actually and 
seriously believe that the girls at this school were 
expected to go through such idiotic performances? 
Don’t believe a word Raymonde tells you again.” 

“Whom shall I believe? Everybody tries to 
stuff me!” wailed the injured Cynthia. “I never 
treated anyhody like this at The Poplars.” 

“Trust your common sense — that is, if you 
happen to have any; and, for goodness’ sake, don’t 
snivel any more. Wipe your eyes and take it 
sporting. And, wait a moment. If you want a 
bit of really good, sound advice, don’t mention The 
Poplars again, or the fact that you were head girl 
there, and the idol of the school, and the rest of it. 
You’re only a junior here, and the sooner you find 
your level the better. We’re not exactly aching to 
have our tone improved by you ! And, look here ! 
Take that absurd keepsake bracelet off, and lock it 
up in your box, and don’t let anybody see it again 
till the end of the term. There! go and digest 
what I’ve told you.” 


32 The Madcap of the School 

Having settled with Cynthia Greene, it now re- 
mained for the Mystic Seven to turn their attention 
to the matter of Maudie Heywood. The situation 
was growing acute. Maudie had been ten days at 
the Grange, and in that brief space of time she was 
already beginning to establish a precedent. She 
was a tall, slim girl, with earnest eyes, a decided 
chin, and an intellectual forehead. Work, with a 
capital W, was her fetish. She sat during classes 
with her gaze focused on her teacher, and a look of 
intelligent interest that surpassed everyone else in 
the Form. Miss Gibbs turned instinctively to 
Maudie at the most important points of the lesson. 
There was a feeling abroad that she sucked in know- 
ledge like a sponge. Nobody would have objected 
to her consuming as much as she liked of the 
mental provender supplied had she stopped at that. 
Maudie unfortunately was over-zealous, and find- 
ing the amount of preparation set her to be well 
below the limit of her capacity, invariably did a 
little more than was required. Her maps were 
coloured, her botany papers illustrated with neat 
drawings, her history exercises had genealogical 
tables appended, and her literature essays were full 
of quotations. This was all very exemplary, and 
won golden opinions from Miss Gibbs, but it caused 
heartburnings in the Form. It was felt that 
Maudie was unduly raising the standard. Miss 
Gibbs had suggested that other botany papers 
might contain diagrams, and had placed upon the 
class - room chimney - piece a book of poetical 
extracts suitable for use in essay-writing. 

“ If we don’t take care we’ll be having our prep, 
doubled,” said Aveline uneasily. 


33 


The Mystic Seven 

It was decided to reason with Maudie before 
taking any more active measures. The united 
Seven tackled her upon the subject. 

“ I promised Mother I’d work,” urged Maudie, 
in reply to their remonstrances. 

“But you’ve no need to work overtime,” ob- 
jected Ardiune. “We don’t mind how hard you 
swat during prep., but it isn’t right for you to be 
putting in extra half-hours while the rest of us are 
in the garden. It’s stealing an advantage.” 

“ It’s a work of supererogation,” added Katherine. 

Maudie wrinkled up her intellectual forehead 
anxiously. 

“Works of supererogation are supposed to 
count,” she interposed in her precise, measured 
voice. 

“Yes, if they’re done with intention for some- 
body else!” flared Raymonde. “ But yours aren’t! 
They’re entirely for your own pride and vanity. 
Do you come and translate my Latin for me in 
those extra half-hours? Not a bit of it!” 

“Oh, that wouldn’t be fair!” Maudie’s tone 
was of shocked virtue. 

“It’s more unfair to heap burdens on the rest 
of your Form.” 

“ I’m bound to do my best.” 

“The fact is,” burst out Aveline, “you’re suffer- 
ing from an over-developed conscience. You’ve 
got an abnormal appetite for work, and it ought 
to be checked. It isn’t good for you. Promise 
us you won’t write or learn a word out of prep, 
time.” 

Maudie shook her head sadly. Her grey eyes 
gleamed with the enthusiasm of the martyr spirit. 

( 0 887 ) 3 


34 The Madcap of the School 

“ I can’t promise anything,” she sighed. “ Some- 
thing within me urges me to work.” 

4 ‘Then something without you will have to put 
a stop to it,” snapped Raymonde. “We’ve given 
you full and fair warning; so now you may look 
out for squalls.” 

When preparation was over, the girls were allowed 
to amuse themselves as they liked until supper. 
Most of them adjourned to the garden, for the 
evenings were getting longer and lighter every 
day, and the tennis courts were in quite fair con- 
dition. It was Maudie’s habit to take a pensive 
stroll among the box-edged flower beds in the 
courtyard, and then repair to the class-room again 
to touch up her exercises. On this particular even- 
ing Raymonde, with a contingent of the Mystic 
Seven, lingered behind. 

“ We’ve just about ten minutes,” she announced. 
“Old Maudie’s as punctual as a clock. She’ll 
walk five times round the sundial and twice to the 
gate.” 

“That girl’s destined for the cloister,” said Ave- 
line pityingly. “She’s evidently thirsting to live 
her life by rule. Mark my words, she’ll eventually 
take the veil.” 

“ No, she’ll pass triumphantly through College 
and come out equal to a double-first or Senior 
Wrangler, or something swanky of that kind, and 
get made head mistress of a high school,” prognosti- 
cated Ardiune. 

“In the meantime, she won’t swat any more to- 
night!” grinned Raymonde. “Wait for me here, 
girls; I’ve got to fetch something.” 

Raymonde performed her errand with lightning 


35 


The Mystic Seven 

speed. She returned with a lump of soft substance 
in one hand, and a spirit-lamp and curling-tongs 
in the other. Her chums looked mystified. 

4 4 Cobblers’ wax! ” she explained airily. 4 ‘ Brought 
some with me, in case of emergency. It’s useful 
stuff. And I just looted Linda Mottram’s curling 
apparatus from her bedroom. Don’t you twig? 
What blind bats you are! I’m going to stick up 
Maudie’s desk!” 

Raymonde lighted the spirit-lamp and heated 
the tongs, then spreading a thick coating of the 
wax along the inside edge of the desk, she applied 
the hot iron to melt it, and put down the lid. 

44 It will have hardened by the time Maudie has 
finished her constitutional among the flower beds,” 
she giggled. 44 I’ll guarantee when she comes 
back she won’t be able to open her desk.” 

44 It’s only right for her to feel the pressure of 
public opinion,” decreed Ardiune. 44 We’re work- 
ing in a good cause.” 

44 But we’re modest about it, and don’t want to 
push ourselves forward,” urged Raymonde. 44 1 
vote we go for a stroll down to the very bottom of 
the orchard, near the moat.” 

A quarter of an hour later, Miss Beasley and Miss 
Gibbs were sitting together in the Principal’s study 
enjoying a well-earned period of repose and a chat. 
Their conversation turned upon the varied dis- 
positions of their pupils. 

44 Maudie Hey wood strikes me as a very earnest 
character,” observed Miss Beasley, toying with the 
violets in her belt. 44 Her work is really excellent.” 

“Almost too good,” agreed Miss Gibbs, who 
was perhaps beginning to find out that Maudie’s 


36 The Madcap of the School 

exercises took twice as long to correct as anybody 
else’s, and thus sensibly curtailed her teacher’s 
leisure. “The child is so conscientious. In my 
opinion she needs to concentrate more on physical 
exercise. I should like to see her in the tennis 
courts instead of copying out reams of poetry.” 

“Yes,” said Miss Beasley, looking thoughtful. 
“Her activities perhaps need a little adjustment. 
We mustn’t allow her to neglect her health. She 
looks over-anxious sometimes for a girl of fifteen.” 

“She is always such a calm, self-controlled, 
well-regulated child,” remarked Miss Gibbs ap- 
preciatively. 

At that moment there was a hurried rap-tap- 
tap; the door opened, and Maudie burst in un- 
announced. Her calm self-control had yielded to 
an agitated condition of excitement and indignation. 
Her earnest eyes were flashing angry sparks, and 
her cheeks were crimson. 

“Oh, Miss Beasley!” she began, “those girls 
have actually gone and stuck up my desk, so that 
I can’t get out my books. They say I work over- 
time, and it’s not fair, for if I like to work, why 
shouldn’t I? I just detest the whole lot of them! 
I hate this place!” 

“I think you’re forgetting yourself, Maudie,” 
returned the Principal. “ It is hardly good manners 
to enter my study so abruptly and to speak in this 
way to me. If you wish to please me, I should 
much prefer you to spend your leisure time at games 
instead of lessons. To-morrow evening I hope to 
see you playing tennis. If you ask the cook for 
a screw-driver you’ll probably be able to wedge 
open your desk easily. But in future you’ll be 


37 


The Mystic Seven 

wiser to confine your work to the preparation hours. 
The bow must be unstrung sometimes, or your 
health will suffer. If you join with the other girls 
at their games you’ll soon get to know them, and 
feel more at home here. Try to be sociable and 
make yourself liked. Part of the training of school 
life is to learn to accommodate yourself to a com- 
munity.” 

The crestfallen Maudie retired, murmuring 
apologies. Miss Beasley picked up her copy of 
The Graphic and laughed. 

“ As a rule, we may trust the girls themselves to 
do any necessary pruning. They’re the strictest 
Socialists that could be imagined. They instinc- 
tively have all the principles of a trade union 
about them. On the whole, it’s good for Maudie 
to be restrained. A little innocent practical joke 
will do her no harm for once. She must be able 
to take her share of teasing. Humour is her one 
deficiency.” 

“ I think I can guess who’s at the bottom of the 
business,” sniffed Miss Gibbs. “ Raymonde Armi- 
tage is the naughtiest girl in the school.” 

“Pardon me!” corrected Miss Beasley. “The 
most mischievous, perhaps, and the most trouble- 
some; full of bubbling spirits and misplaced energy, 
but straightforward and truthful. There is some- 
thing very lovable about Raymonde.” 


CHAPTER III 

The Limberlost 


Everybody agreed that Marlowe Grange was an 
ideal spot for a school. The picturesque old or- 
chard and grounds provided an almost unlimited 
field of amusement. Those girls who were inter- 
ested in horticulture might have their own little 
plots at the end of the potato patch, and a de- 
lightful series of experiments had been started down 
by the moat, where a real, genuine water-garden 
was in process of construction. Here, duly shod 
in rubber waders, a few enthusiasts toiled almost 
daily, planting iris and arrow-head and flowering 
rush, and sinking water-lily roots in old wicker 
baskets weighted with stones. There was even 
a scheme on hand to subscribe to buy a punt, but 
Miss Beasley had frowned upon the idea as con- 
taining too great an element of danger, and of 
consequent anxiety for teachers. 

“ I don’t want a set of Ophelias drowning them- 
selves among the willows and the long purples!” 
she remarked firmly. “ If we bought a punt, we 
should need a drag and a life-belt as well. You 
shall go for a row on the river sometimes during 
the summer, and that must content you. There 
are plenty of occupations on dry land to amuse 
yourselves with.” 

ts 


The Limberlost 


39 


The Grange certainly contained ample space for 
interests of every description. The old farm build- 
ings made sheds for carpentry and wood-carving, 
or any other work that was too messy for the school- 
rooms. Under the direction of Miss Gibbs, some 
of the elder girls were turning the contents of a 
wood pile into a set of rustic garden seats, and 
other industrious spirits had begun to plait osier- 
withes into baskets that were destined for blackberry 
picking in the autumn. The house itself was roomy 
enough to allow hobbies to overflow. Miss Beasley, 
who dabbled rather successfully in photography, 
had a conveniently equipped dark-room, which she 
lent by special favour to seniors only, on the under- 
standing that they left it as they found it. Miss 
Gibbs had taken possession of an empty attic, and 
had made it into a scientific sanctum. So far none 
of the girls had been allowed to peep inside, and 
the wildest rumours were afloat as to what the room 
contained. Batteries and other apparatus had been 
seen to be carried upstairs, and those scouts who 
had ventured along the forbidden upper landing 
reported that through the closed door they could 
hear weird noises as of turning wheels or bubbling 
crucibles. It was surmised in the school that Miss 
Gibbs, having found a congenial mediaeval atmos- 
phere for her researches, was working on the lines 
of the ancient alchemists, and attempting to dis- 
cover the elixir of life or the philosopher’s stone. 
One fact was certain. Miss Gibbs had set up a 
telescope in her solitary attic. She had bought it 
second-hand, during the holidays, from the widow 
of a coastguardsman, and with its aid she studied 
the landscape by day and the stars by night. The 


40 The Madcap of the School 

girls considered she kept a wary eye on watch for 
escaped Germans or Zeppelins, and regarded the 
instrument in the light of a safeguard for the 
establishment. 

“ Besides which, anything’s a blessing that takes 
Gibbie upstairs and keeps her from buzzing round 
us all the time,” averred Raymonde. 

“ She’s welcome to keep anything she likes in 
her room, from a stuffed crocodile to a snake in 
a bottle!” yawned Fauvette. “All I ask is that 
she doesn’t take me up and improve my mind. 
I’m getting fed up with hobbies. I can’t show an 
intelligent interest in all. My poor little brains 
won’t hold them. What with repousse work and 
stencilling and chip carving, I hardly ever get half 
an hour to enjoy a book. My idea of a jinky time 
is to sit by the moat and read, and eat chocolates. 
By the by, has that copy of The Harvester come 
yet? Hermie promised to get it for the library.” 

The girls at the Grange had fashions in books, 
and at present they were all raving over the works 
of Gene Stratton Porter. Even Raymonde, not 
generally much of a reader, had succumbed to 
the charms of Freckles and A Girl of the Limber - 
lost . The accounts of the American swamp forest 
fascinated her. It was a veritable “call of the 
wild ”. 

“I’d give anything— just anything — to get into 
such a place!” she confided to Fauvette. “I’d 
chance even the snakes and mosquitoes. Just think 
of the trees and the flowers and the birds and the 
butterflies! Why don’t we have things like that 
in England?” 

“ I expect we do, only one never gets to see 


The Limberlost 


4 ' 


them. There’s a wood over there on the hill that 
looks absolutely top-hole if one could go into it. 
Hermie said the other day that the Bumble Bee 
had buzzed out something about taking us all for 
a picnic there some day. It would be rather 
precious.” 

Raymonde shook her head reflectively. 

“ Picnics are all very well in their way, but when 
you turn about thirty people together into a wood, 
I fancy the birds and butterflies will give us a wide 
berth. Freckles found his specimens when he was 
alone. You can’t go naturalizing in a crowd! 
Look here! Suppose you and I go and explore. 
I’ll be the Bird Woman, and you can be the 
Swamp Angel.” 

“Oh, what a blossomy idea! But what about 
Gibbie? Can we dodge her?” 

“ We’ll wait till she’s shut herself up in her attic, 
and then we’ll scoot. Between tea and prep.’s the 
best time, especially now prep.’s been put later.” 

“You really have the most chubby inspirations, 
Ray,” burbled Fauvette. “You’re an absolute 
mascot!” 

The idea of posing as the Swamp Angel appealed 
to Fauvette. She was conscious that she looked 
the part. She fingered her fluffy flaxen curls 
caressingly, and resolved to wear a blue cotton 
dress for the next day or two, in case there was 
a chance of the expedition. In imagination she 
was already photographing rare birds and shooting 
villains with revolvers, and looking her best through 
it all. 

“ I wish I knew how to mix iced drinks,” she 
sighed regretfully. “One can’t get even the ice 


42 


The Madcap of the School 

over here, not to speak of the bits of cherry and 
lemon and grape and pineapple that the Angel 
used for Freckles. Girls in America have a far 
better time than we have.” 

“Cheero! We’ll get a little fun, you’ll see, if 
we can only circumvent the Wasp.” 

It was not a remarkably easy matter to leave the 
premises unobserved. Monitresses had a tiresome 
habit of hanging about in places where they were 
not wanted; Mademoiselle made herself far too con- 
spicuous, and Miss Gibbs seemed everywhere. The 
chums decided that a too great attention to duty 
can degenerate into a fault. 

“ It’s what Miss Beasley said in the Scripture 
lesson,” declared Raymonde. “ Economy over- 
done turns into parsimony, liberality into extrava- 
gance, self-respect into pride. Gibbie’s over- 
stepping the mark, and letting responsibility run 
to fussiness.” 

It is hardly possible to tackle a mistress and con- 
vince her of her faults, so Miss Gibbs’s pharisaical 
tendencies went unchecked. Evidently the only 
possible method was to dodge her. Whether her 
suspicions were aroused it is impossible to say, 
but for several days she neglected her attic sanctum 
and pervaded the garden during recreation hours. 

Raymonde and Fauvette lay low, and toiled with 
an amazing spurt of industry at osier-weaving. 

‘‘You’ve each nearly finished a basket,” said 
Miss Gibbs approvingly. 

“Yes, if we go on working hard this afternoon 
I think we shall finish them,” replied Raymonde 
craftily. 

“ It’s nice to have a thing done. I’m glad you’ve 


The Limberlost 


43 

taken to such a sensible employment, ” commented 
Miss Gibbs. 

“We like to have our fingers occupied, and then 
our minds haven’t time to wander,” said Raymonde, 
quoting so shamelessly from Miss Beasley that 
Fauvette kicked her surreptitiously in alarm. 

Miss Gibbs regarded her for a moment with 
suspicion, but her eyes were bent demurely over 
her basket, and her expression was innocence 
personified. 

‘ ‘It’s as well you have something to do under 
cover, for I think it’s going to rain,” observed the 
mistress as she turned to leave the barn. 

The girls watched her cross the courtyard and 
enter the house; then Fauvette, scooting in by the 
back way, had the further satisfaction of seeing 
the tail of her skirt whisking up the attic stairs. 
She ran back to report to Raymonde. 

“ Gibbie’s safe in her sanctum. She thinks we’re 
happily employed here for the next hour. Let’s 
bolt for the Limberlost! There’s nobody in the 
courtyard.” 

“ Right-o!” echoed Raymonde. “It’s the oppor- 
tunity of a lifetime.” 

They did not wait to fetch hats, but, strolling 
down the flagged path as if for exercise, reached 
the great gate. Then, glancing cautiously round 
to see that the coast was absolutely clear, they un- 
latched the little postern door, slipped through, 
and shut it after them. A moment later they were 
running at top speed down the road that led to the 
wood. It was not a very great distance away, and 
they had often passed near it in their walks. To 
scramble over the palings and enter its cool, mys- 


44 


The Madcap of the School 

terious shade had been their dream. They were 
resolved now to make it a reality. 

They had been prepared for something delight- 
ful, but not for the little terrestrial paradise that 
spread itself at the farther side of the fence. The 
wood had been thinned comparatively recently, so 
that it admitted an unusual amount of light and 
air. The trees, just bursting into the tender green 
of early May, spread delicate lacy boughs over- 
head, like tender fingers held out to guard the 
treasures underneath. The ground below, still 
moist and boggy from the spring rains, was clothed 
with a carpet of dog violets, growing in such pro- 
fusion that they seemed to stretch in a vista of 
palest mauve into the distance. At close intervals 
among these grew glorious clumps of golden cow- 
slips and purple meadow orchis, taller and finer 
by far than those in the meadows, and deliciously 
fragrant. In the swampy hollows were yellow 
marsh marigolds and blue forget-me-nots; on the 
drier soil of the rising bank the wild hyacinths 
were just shaking open their bells, and heartsease 
here and there lifted coy heads to the sunlight. 

Raymonde and Fauvette wandered about in 
ecstasy, picking great bunches of the flowers, and 
running from clump to clump with thrills of de- 
light. Surely even Freckles’s “ Limberlost” could 
not be more beautiful than this. A persistent cuckoo 
was calling in the meadow close by; a thrush with 
his brown throat all a-ruffle trilled in a birch tree 
overhead, and a blackbird warbled his heart out 
among the hazel bushes by the fence. The girls 
went peeping here and there and everywhere in 
quest of birds’ nests, and their diligent search was 


The Limberlost 


45 


amply rewarded. In the hollow of a decaying 
stump a robin was feeding five little gaping mouths, 
the blackbird’s mate guarded four speckled eggs, 
and three separate thrushes had pale-blue treasures 
in clay-lined cradles amidst the undergrowth. 

As they penetrated farther into the wood they 
struck upon a pond closely surrounded by sallows 
and alders. Raymonde peered through the shim- 
mering leaves, and called Fauvette with a cry of 
joy, for covering almost the entire surface of the 
water was a mass of the gorgeous pale-pink fringed 
blossoms of the bog bean. The girls had never 
found it before, and it was indeed rare for it to be 
growing in a Midland county. They thought it 
was the most beautiful flower they had ever seen. 
How to pick any was the difficulty, for even the 
nearest piece lay fully a yard from the edge of the 
pond, and the finest blooms were in the middle 
of the water. 

“I’m going to get some somehow, if I have to 
take off my shoes and stockings!” declared Ray- 
monde. 

An easier way than wading, however, presented 
itself. Close by the side of the pond was a young 
tree which had been blown over by the spring 
gales; the forester had chopped it from its roots, 
but had not yet removed it. By dint of much 
energy the girls lifted this, and pushed it over the 
water till part of it rested securely on an alder 
which grew on a little island in the midst. It made 
a rather shaky but perfectly possible bridge, if not 
for Fauvette, at least for Raymonde. The latter 
advanced upon it cautiously but courageously. She 
took three steps, almost slipped, but regained her 


46 The Madcap of the School 

balance by a miracle, grasped an overhanging 
bough of the alder, and set a firm foot on the 
island. From here, by reaching a long arm, she 
could gather some fine specimens of the bog bean. 
She pulled it up in handfuls, with trailing oozy 
stalks. As she turned to grip the alder branch 
before venturing back over her primitive bridge, 
her eye suddenly caught sight of a large nest built 
at the extreme brink of the water. It held four 
browny-speckled eggs, and an agitated moorhen, 
seeking cover among the reeds, gave the clue to 
their parentage. 

The school was making a collection of birds* 
eggs for its museum. There were plenty of robins’ 
and thrushes’ and blackbirds’, and all the common 
varieties, but so far not a solitary specimen of a 
moorhen’s egg. Raymonde felt that even at the 
risk of betraying their secret expedition she must 
secure some of these. She decided to go halves, 
to take two and leave two in the nest to console 
the moorhen when she came back. She wrapped 
them in some grass and packed them in her hand- 
kerchief, which she slung round her neck for safety. 
Then taking her bunch of bog bean she managed 
to scramble back to the bank. 

The girls were naturalists enough to remove 
their tree-trunk from the island, lest it should 
tempt marauding boys to go across and discover 
the moorhen’s nest. They hoped the bird would 
return and sit again when they were out of the 
way. Each carefully carrying one of the precious 
eggs, they went on farther to explore the wood. 
They had only walked a short distance when 
Fauvette stopped suddenly. 


The Limber] ost 


47 

“What’s that queer squeaking noise?” she 
asked. 

“ Do you hear it too?” confirmed Raymonde. 

The girls glanced round, and then looked at each 
other blankly. There was no doubt that the per- 
sistent chirruping and peeping came from the eggs 
in their hands. 

“Oh, good night! The wretched things are 
hatching out!” gasped Raymonde. 

They had indeed robbed the poor moorhen at the 
very moment when her chicks were in the process 
of hatching. Already there was a chip in the side 
of each egg, and a tiny bill began to protrude, the 
owner of which was raising a shrill clamour of wel- 
come to the world. The girls laid them hastily 
down on the grass. 

“Those won’t be any use for the museum!” 
exploded Fauvette. 

“ I wonder if we ought to put them back,” mur- 
mured Raymonde, decidedly conscience-stricken, 
though somewhat unwilling to venture again over 
the slippery tree-trunk. 

She might perhaps have braved the crossing, and 
restored the eggs to the nest, but at that moment 
the rain, which had been threatening all the after- 
noon, came down in a torrent. She felt it had 
sealed the fate of the chicks. 

“We’ll just have to leave them here. It’s like 
murder, but I can’t help it. If we don’t get back 
quick we shall be drenched.” 

As the girls turned to retrace their steps they 
became aware that they were not alone in the 
wood. Some distance among the bushes a dark 
coat and hat were plainly advancing in their direc- 


48 The Madcap of the School 

tion. Undoubtedly somebody had been watching 
them and was following them. Wild visions of 
Black Jack and his “Limberlost” gang swam be- 
fore their eyes, and with one accord they ran — ran 
anywhere, panic-stricken, bent only on escaping. 

A voice shouted, and it added to their terror, and 
sent them hurrying on the faster. They imagined 
oaths and pistol-shots behind them. Such exciting 
scenes were all very well in the pages of Freckles , 
but they would be decidedly out of place in an 
English wood. When it came to the point, neither 
of them possessed the courage and presence of 
mind of the Swamp Angel. 

Suppose they found themselves bound and 
gagged, and tied to trees, while some dastardly 
ruffians hewed down the best timber in the wood? 
The shouts behind grew nearer. Their pursuer 
was evidently gaining upon them. Through the 
pouring rain they struggled on, splashing anyhow 
through swampy places, regardless of soaked shoes 
and stockings, pushing through wet bushes and 
underneath dripping branches, possessed by the 
one idea of flight. Down through the hollow where 
they had gathered the forget-me-nots, and up the 
bluebell bank they struggled, with never a thought 
for the flowers; and they were just about to scramble 
over some felled trees when Raymonde, who was 
a yard in advance, caught her foot in a tangle of 
brier and fell on her hands and knees among the 
springing bracken. Fauvette, unable to stop her- 
self, collided heavily and collapsed by her side. 
Too much out of breath to stir, the girls lay for 
a few moments panting. 

“ Hallo! Wait!” shouted their pursuer. 


The Limberlost 


49 


The rather rasping, authoritative voice was so 
well known and familiar that the girls scrambled 
up and turned round, to find — no desperate villain 
armed with revolver and bowie-knife, but Miss 
Gibbs, in a neat, shiny -black mackintosh and 
rainproof hat to match. She advanced breathless 
and agitated, and very decidedly out of temper. 

“You naughty girls! What do you mean by 
running away like this? I watched you through 
my telescope as you went to the wood, and of 
course followed you. Why didn’t you come at 
once when I called?” 

“We didn’t know it was you!” murmured Ray- 
monde, forbearing to explain that they had taken 
their mistress for a ruffian. 

Fauvette said nothing. She was looking hor- 
ribly conscious and caught. Miss Gibbs glared at 
the guilty pair, and, telling them curtly to come 
along, led the way back. 

Such a serious breach of school discipline was 
naturally visited with heavy consequences. For the 
next three days Raymonde and Fauvette spent their 
recreation hours indoors, copying certain classic 
lines of Paradise Lost . They were debarred from 
the purchase of chocolates or any other form of 
sweetstuff for the period of a month, and made to 
understand that they were under the ban not only 
of Miss Gibbs’s, but also of Miss Beasley’s dis- 
pleasure. 

“I never thought of that wretched telescope,” 
mourned Fauvette. “Just imagine Gibbie spying 
on us all the time! She must have watched us 
scramble over the palings into the wood. It’s 
worse than second sight! And then for her to 

(0 887) 4 


50 The Madcap of the School 

come gallivanting out after us in that swanky mack- 
intosh! It gave me spasms!” 

‘‘We’d a jinky time, though, first. It was worth 
being caught afterwards,” maintained Raymonde 
candidly. “And, you know, in secret the Bumble 
Bee was rejoiced to see that bog bean. She won’t 
admit it, of course, but I know it’s the discovery of 
the term. It’s recorded in the Nature Note-book, 
and the best piece was pressed for the museum. 
My own private opinion is that both the Bumble 
and the Wasp will go buzzing off to that Limber- 
lost, exploring on their own, some day, and I don’t 
blame them. It’s a paradise!” 

“Most top-hole place I’ve ever been in in my 
life!” agreed Fauvette, sighing heavily. “I say, 
I call it rather appropriate of the Bumble to have 
made us copy out Paradise Lost ! ” 


CHAPTER IV 


Raymonde Explores 

There was no doubt that Marlowe Grange was 
one of the quaintest old houses in the county. The 
girls all felt that its mediaeval atmosphere was un- 
rivalled. Even such prosaic subjects as geometry 
or analysis took on an element of romance when 
studied in an oak-panelled chamber with coats of 
arms emblazoned on the upper panes of the win- 
dows. It was the fashion in the school to rejoice in 
the antique surroundings. The girls took numer- 
ous photos, and printed picture post-cards to send 
home to their families and friends, and everyone 
with the least aptitude for drawing started a sketch- 
book. Like most ancient buildings, the old hall, 
while preserving its principal rooms in good repair, 
was growing shaky in the upper stories. The 
labyrinth of attics that lay under the roof had been 
neglected till the latticed windows were almost off 
their hinges, and the plaster had fallen in great 
patches from the ceilings. Fearing lest the worm- 
eaten floors were really unsafe, Miss Beasley had 
made the top story a forbidden territory, and, to 
ensure her orders being obeyed, had placed a wire 
door to shut it off from the rest of the house. This 
door was kept locked, Miss Beasley and Miss 


52 The Madcap of the School 

Gibbs each having a key. Every day, girls pressed 
inquisitive noses against the wire netting to peep at 
the tantalizing prospect beyond. They could just 
see round the corner of a winding oak staircase on 
to a dim, mysterious landing beyond. Once or 
twice Miss Gibbs had gone to her attic laboratory 
and had left the door open behind her, and a few 
bold spirits had ventured upstairs, but, as the door 
of her room had also been wide open, they had not 
dared to pass it and risk discovery, and had been 
obliged to beat a hasty retreat. It was highly 
aggravating, for the vista of dark passages looked 
most alluring. 

“ Couldn’t we ask the Bumble to take us round 
the attics some Saturday for a special treat?” sug- 
gested Ardiune. 

“’Twouldn’t be much fun going in a specially 
conducted party like a crowd of tourists!” sniffed 
Raymonde. “We’d all have to stand at attention 
while the Bumble gave a short lecture on the archi- 
tecture or the historical significance of some thing- 
umbobs. It would just turn it all into a lesson. 
What I want is to go and poke about on my own; 
and I mean to some day!” 

“Gibbie’d snap your head off if she caught 
you!” 

“ I don’t intend to be caught.” 

It was all very well to lay plans, but another 
matter to carry them out. Miss Gibbs usually 
locked the wire door behind her, only leaving it 
open when she went upstairs to fetch something 
and meant to return almost immediately. The mere 
fact of its difficulty increased Raymonde’s zest for 
the adventure. Her wild, harum-scarum spirits 


53 


Raymonde Explores 

welcomed the element of possible danger, and the 
imminence of discovery added an extra spice. For 
days she haunted the vicinity of the winding stair- 
case, hiding in bedrooms and watching, in case 
Miss Gibbs went to her laboratory. Twice she 
watched the mistress pass through the wire door 
and lock it safely behind her, quite unaware of the 
outraged pupil fuming in No. 3 Dormitory opposite. 
Raymonde reiterated her old opinion that Miss 
Gibbs was far too exact and conscientious. 

On one eventful afternoon, however, fortune 
favoured her. No less a person than Miss Beasley 
ascended the interesting staircase, actually leaving 
the defences unsecured. Raymonde seized the 
opportunity, and like a little ghost or shadow stole 
softly after her. The head mistress had entered 
the laboratory, and had closed that door after her. 
Raymonde tiptoed up to it, and could hear voices 
inside, the whirling of a wheel, and a kind of bub- 
bling sound. Was Miss Beasley assisting Miss 
Gibbs with the alchemy? She did not wait even to 
take a survey through the keyhole, but, hurrying 
on, turned the corner of the passage. 

She found herself in another long, narrow land- 
ing, with rooms on both sides. She peeped into 
most of these. They were empty, and in a de- 
plorable state of disrepair. Plaster had fallen 
from the ceilings, showing the rafters ; in some 
places, even streaks of daylight shone through 
chinks in the tiled roof. The worm-eaten old floors 
had rotted into holes, and Raymonde had to walk 
warily to avoid putting her foot through in tender 
places. Many of the rooms had cupboards — dark, 
mysterious, cobwebby recesses — into which she 


54 The Madcap of the School 

peered with a rather jumpy sensation that a bogy 
might suddenly pop out. The whole atmosphere 
of the place was ghostly, even in the daytime. 

“1 shouldn’t like to come up here at night!” 
shivered Raymonde. 

As far as she could tell, the passage seemed to 
be leading her round the house. It turned several 
corners, and ended in a long gallery. This looked 
more cheerful, for the sun shone in through the 
large end window and brightened the cracked old 
walls. She danced along the floor with quite a 
return of high spirits. 

“ I wish the Bumble would let us come up here 
on wet days. It would be a glorious place for 
games, nicer by far than the barn. I call it mean 
of her to lock up all this part of the house. We’d 
have absolutely topping fun! I say! what’s that 
little door over there?” 

The door in question was very small, and quite 
low down on a level with the floor. Raymonde 
went on her hands and knees to investigate. It 
was secured with a bolt, which she easily opened. 
To her surprise, she found herself looking out upon 
the roof. Whether it had been constructed in past 
days to provide a means of escape from danger, or 
merely to allow workmen to replace loose tiles, it 
was impossible to say. It was certainly within the 
bounds of probability to imagine a Jacobite, with 
a price set on his life, creeping through the little 
opening to find a more secure hiding-place among 
the twisted chimneys, while King George’s soldiers 
searched the mansion below. 

Raymonde put her head out. The roof sloped 
steeply up in front. To a girl of her temperament 


55 


Raymonde Explores 

the temptation to explore farther was irresistible. 
She squeezed through the small door, and wriggled 
out on her hands and knees on to the tiles. 

She was in the angle of a small gable. She 
could see roof all round her, and sky above. Still 
on hands and knees, she began to creep upwards. 
The weather-beaten old tiles had mellowed to dull 
red and orange, and were partly covered with moss. 
She could not help admiring the artistic beauty of 
their colour. She reached the ridge, and peered 
over. Apparently she was somewhere in the middle 
of the roof, for a tall, twisted stack of chimneys 
reared itself close by, and gables spread on all 
sides. She went cautiously down the next incline, 
and up to the summit of a further ridge, which was 
higher. Here, by standing up and holding on to 
a chimney ledge, she had an excellent view. She 
could not see the courtyard, but she could command 
the bottom of the orchard, the moat, the fields that 
led to the river, and the cliffs and woods beyond. 
It was quite a bird’s-eye prospect. She seemed to be 
looking on to the top of everything. The cattle in 
the meadows appeared mere specks, and a cart and 
horses passing over the bridge were like a child’s 
toy. It was fascinating to watch them vanishing 
down the road. 

Raymonde was in no hurry to return. She stood 
for quite a long time enjoying an exhilarating sense 
of being on the summit of a mountain. At last the 
recollection that it must be nearly preparation time 
recalled her to the necessity of departure. With 
a sigh of regret she dropped back on to the ridge, 
and crawled over the gables again. She was sure 
that she had left the little door open behind her, 


56 The Madcap of the School 

but when she approached it she saw that it was 
shut. Perhaps the wind had blown it to. She 
put out her hand to fling it open, but it did not 
yield. She pushed harder, pressing with all her 
force. It remained immovable. Then the awful 
truth burst upon her. Somebody had latched the 
door on the inside, and she was locked out upon 
the roof. Had Miss Beasley or Miss Gibbs been 
taking a survey of the attics? No matter who it 
was, the horrible result remained the same. What 
was she to do? She beat wildly at the door, hoping 
to break it in, but sixteenth-century oak and bolts 
were made of stuff too strong for a girl’s hands. 
She shouted and called, knowing all the time that 
it was of little avail. Whoever bolted the door 
must have gone away. Miss Gibbs’s laboratory 
was at the other side of the house, and she might 
scream herself hoarse without anyone hearing her. 
For a minute or two she sat huddled up in despair. 
Would she have to spend the night on the roof? 

It was a ghastly prospect. Hot tears came 
welling up, but she dashed them away angrily. 
Her innate pluck rose to the surface. She had 
been in difficult, even dangerous positions before, 
and had escaped. Surely there must be some way 
out of this? 

44 I’ll climb farther on over the roof,” she decided. 
44 If I can get nearer the edge, perhaps someone 
may see me.” 

The chance of rescue meant admitting her adven- 
ture, and incurring great wrath at head-quarters, 
but that was a lesser evil than passing a night on 
the roof. She crawled to her old vantage-ground, 
and descended to the right, where a gable sloped 


57 


Raymonde Explores 

steeply. At the bottom she passed along a wide 
gutter, and, rounding a corner, found that she could 
easily drop on to a lower portion of the roof. She 
was in a state of tense excitement. Where was 
she getting to? Would anybody see her from the 
courtyard; and if so, how would they propose to 
rescue her? It would be difficult to shout down 
and explain that she had come through the little 
door in the upper gallery. She was on a much 
lower level now than when she had first started. 
She crawled on, with hands and knees rather sore 
and scraped with the tiles. 

Another corner, and another short drop. She 
was nearing the edge of the parapet. She must 
creep down this next piece of roof. There was 
another wide gutter at the bottom. She walked 
along this, rounded a jutting chimney-stack, and 
then paused with a cry. Facing her was a small 
door, identical with the one by which she had 
emerged. Could it possibly be open? She stumbled 
up to it, and pressed it with trembling fingers. It 
yielded easily. The next moment she was creeping 
through. 

Raymonde now found herself inside a cupboard 
full of old lumber. The dust was thick, and surely 
had not been disturbed for years. Some broken 
chairs with moth-eaten seats were piled together, 
and some ancient boxes lay full of rubbish. Straw, 
old books, hanks of rope, and other miscellaneous 
things occupied the corner. There was a door 
opposite, without either latch or knob. Raymonde 
with some difficulty managed to pull it open, and 
stepped out into a passage. When she pushed the 
door to behind her, she noticed that it fitted so ex- 


58 The Madcap of the School 

actly into the oak panelling as to be quite undis- 
cernible. Could it be a secret cupboard? She 
wondered if Miss Beasley knew of its existence. 
There was a window close by; she looked out and 
took her bearings. Apparently she was just over 
the big dormitory; the tiles across which she had 
crawled to enter the cupboard must have been those 
of Miss Gibbs’s bedroom. The landing where she 
found herself at present led to the servants’ quarters; 
the staircase was to her right. 

Raymonde hurried down without meeting any- 
body, washed the dust and dirt off her hands, 
and walked in to preparation in the very nick of 
time. 


CHAPTER V 


Fifth-Form Tactics 

It was an unfortunate truth that Miss Gibbs was 
not very popular at the Grange. She was clever, 
conscientious, and well-meaning, and preserved a 
high ideal of girlhood. Much too high for practical 
use, so her pupils maintained. 

“This isn’t a school for saints!” grumbled 
Valentine one day. “ If we followed all Gibbie’s 
pet precepts we should have halos round our 
heads.” 

“And be sprouting wings!” added Raymonde. 
“ A very uncomfortable process too. I expect it 
would hurt like cutting teeth, and it would spoil 
the fit of one’s blouses. I don’t want to be an 
angel! I’m quite content with this world at 
present.” 

“I’m so tired of developing my capabilities!” 
sighed Fauvette. “One never gets half an hour 
now, just to have fun.” 

Miss Gibbs, who aspired to a partnership in the 
school, was deeply concerned this term with the 
general culture and mental outlook of her charges. 
She had attended an educational congress during 
the Easter holidays, and came back primed with the 
very latest theories. She was determined to work on 

69 


60 The Madcap of the School 

the most modern methods, and to turn her pupils 
out into the world, a little band of ardent thinkers, 
keen-witted, self-sacrificing, logical, anxious for the 
development of their sex, yearning for careers, in 
fact the vanguard of a new womanhood. Unfor- 
tunately her material was not altogether promising. 
A few earnest spirits, such as Maudie Heywood, 
responded to her appeals, but the generality were 
slow to move. They listened to her impassioned 
addresses on women’s suffrage without a spark of 
animation, and sat stolidly while she descanted 
upon the bad conditions of labour among munition 
girls, and the need for lady welfare workers. The 
fact was that her pupils did not care an atom about 
the position of their sex, a half-holiday was far 
more to them than the vote, and their own griev- 
ances loomed larger than those of factory hands. 
They considered that they had a very decided 
grievance at present. 

Miss Gibbs, acting on the advice of a book en- 
titled Education out of School Hours , was determined 
that every moment of the day should be filled with 
some occupation that led to culture. She carefully 
explained that the word “ recreation” meant “re- 
creation” — a creating again, not a mere period of 
frivolity or lotus-eating, and advocated that all 
intervals of leisure should be devoted to intellectual 
interests. She frowned on girls who sauntered 
arm-in-arm round the garden, or sat giggling in 
the summer-house, and suggested suitable employ- 
ments for their idle hands and brains. “ Never 
waste a precious minute” was her motto, and the 
girls groaned under it. Healthy hobbies were all 
very well, but to be urged to ride them in season 


Fifth-Form Tactics 


61 


and out of season was distinctly trying. One well- 
meant effort on Miss Gibbs’s part met with particular 
disapproval. She had decided to take the girls on 
Saturday afternoons to visit various old castles, 
Roman camps, and other objects of historical and 
archaeological interest in the neighbourhood. On 
former similar occasions she had been in the habit 
of delivering a short lecture when on the spot; but, 
noticing that many of the girls were so distracted 
with gazing at the surroundings that they were not 
really listening, she determined that they should 
absorb the knowledge before visiting the place. 
She wrote careful notes, therefore, upon the subject 
of their next ramble, and giving them out in class, 
ordered each girl to copy them and to commit them 
to memory. 

The result of her injunction was an outburst of 
almost mutinous indignation in Form V. 

“When does she expect us to do it, I should like 
to know?” raged Morvyth. “ There’s not a moment 
to spare in prep., so I suppose it will have to come 
out of our so-called recreation ! Look here, I call 
this the very limit !” 

“Saturday afternoon’s no holiday when we’ve 
got to go prowling round a wretched Roman 
camp!” mourned Valentine. “What do I care 
about ancient earthworks? If they were modern 
trenches, now, with soldiers in them, it would be 
something like! There’ll be nothing to see except 
some mounds. I suppose we shall have to stand 
round and listen while she holds forth, and look 
‘ intelligent’ and ‘ interested’.” 

“ I don’t know whether she’s going to hold forth 
herself,” said Aveline. “ I hear she’s invited several 


62 The Madcap of the School 

people from an archaeological society to meet us 
there, and probably one of them will do the spout- 
ing — some wheezy old gentleman with a bald head, 
or an elderly lady in a waterproof and spectacles. 
One knows the sort!” 

“Oh, good biz!” exclaimed Raymonde. “If 
visitors are coming, Gibbie’ll have to talk to them, 
and she won’t have so much time to look after us. 
She’s welcome to the bald old boys ! Let her have 
half a dozen if she wants!” 

“You forget you’ve got to listen to them.” 

“Oh, I’ll listen! At least I’ll look serious and 
politely absorbed. That’s all that’s expected.” 

“In the meantime we’ve these wretched notes to 
copy,” groused Katherine. 

“ Have we? I don’t think so! I’ve got an idea. 
Maudie Heywood’s sure to make a most beautiful 
copperplate copy; we’ll borrow hers, and just skim 
them over to get a kind of general acquaintance 
with the subject, sufficient to show ‘ intelligent 
interest’. Gibbie won’t be able to question us with 
those other people there.” 

“ But suppose she asks beforehand to see our 
notes?” 

“ I’ve thought of that. We’ll each copy out the 
first page, and stick some old exercise sheets behind 
it. She’ll never find out.” 

The Mystic Seven looked at their leader in ad- 
miration. They considered that on such occasions 
her resourcefulness amounted to genius. They fol- 
lowed her advice, and copied the front page only 
of the notes, placing underneath some portions of 
Latin translation or historical essay. Aveline under- 
lined her title with red ink, Morvyth ruled a neat 


Fifth-Form Tactics 


63 


margin, and Fauvette tied her sheets together with 
a piece of the blue baby ribbon which she used 
for threading through her underclothes. On the 
outside, at any rate, their copies looked most pre- 
sentable. 

It was only the Fifth Form who were accorded 
the privilege of the ramble. They were Miss 
Gibbs’s special charge this term, Miss Beasley 
devoting herself to the Sixth, and Mademoiselle 
looking after the Juniors. The Fifth hardly ap- 
preciated receiving the lion’s share of Miss Gibbs’s 
attention. They complained that she tried all her 
educational experiments upon them. They were 
ready, however, the whole ten of them, on Saturday 
afternoon, clad in the neat school uniform, brown 
serge skirt, khaki blouse, scarlet tie, and burnt- 
straw hat. Miss Gibbs viewed them with approval. 
Each had slung over her shoulders a vasculum for 
botanical or other specimens, and each carried in 
her hand a copy of the notes. They looked busi- 
ness-like, healthy, well trained, and alert with 
intelligence, altogether an excellent advertisement 
for the school and its modern methods. 

The camp was about a two-mile walk from the 
Grange, so the Form had at least the satisfaction of 
obtaining exercise. As Valentine had prophesied, 
it consisted of some mounds in the middle of a 
field, where, to Fauvette’s infinite discomposure, 
some cows were grazing. The members of the 
Archaeological Society had already arrived, and 
came forward to greet Miss Gibbs. There was a 
large stout gentleman, with a grey moustache and 
bushy overhanging eyebrows; also a little thin 
gentleman with a pointed beard and an argumenta- 


64 The Madcap of the School 

tive voice; a tall lady with a high colour, who carried 
a guide-book, and a short-sighted younger man, 
who was trying to spread out an ordnance map. 
These seemed to be the principal members of the 
party, though there were a few stragglers. 

“Professor Edwards — my girls!” said Miss 
Gibbs, introducing the Form en bloc to the leader 
for the afternoon. 

The stout gentleman smiled blandly, and mur- 
mured some suitable remark about the value of 
acquiring antiquarian tastes while still young. 

“ I had perhaps better read my short paper before 
we inspect the remains,” he added. 

“Goody! He surely isn’t going to disinter any 
dead Romans to show us, is he?” whispered 
Katherine. 

“Bunkum!” replied Ardiune. “Nothing as 
thrilling as that, don’t you fear!” 

Miss Gibbs smiled encouragingly to the Form, 
and beckoned them to draw nearer. They arranged 
themselves in a respectful semicircle, with atten- 
tive eyes fixed on the lecturer, and copies of notes 
rather conspicuously flaunted. 

He discoursed exhaustively on the subject of 
Roman camps in general, and the girls listened 
with receptive faces, but minds wandering upon 
more modern themes. Morvyth was speculating 
whether it would be possible to purchase chocolates 
on the way home, Fauvette was planning her next 
party frock, and Aveline was wondering whether 
there would be jam or honey for tea that day. 

“ Before I ask you to take a personal survey 
of the earthworks,” concluded the Professor, “ I 
should like to have Miss Gibbs’s opinion as to the 


65 


Fifth-Form Tactics 

exact position of the entrance and the approximate 
date of construction. She has, I know, made a 
study of this branch of archaeology.” 

“ My ideas are embodied in my notes,” purred 
Miss Gibbs. “ Perhaps you would not mind read- 
ing the paragraph. I lent them a short time ago 
to Mrs. Gladwin.” 

Professor Edwards turned expectantly; but the 
tall lady, who a moment before had been at his 
elbow, had strayed away, papers in hand, and was 
not available for reference. 

i ‘My girls all have copies of the notes. Pass 
yours, Ardiune,” smiled the mistress. 

The luckless Ardiune blushed scarlet, but dared 
not disobey. 

i ‘ The passage occurs about the middle, ” prompted 
Miss Gibbs, as the Professor fumbled with the 
pages. “ May I find it for you? Why, surely 
there must be some mistake! This is French! 
Valentine, your copy, child!” 

With an even more crimson countenance Valen- 
tine tendered her manuscript, which consisted of 
last week’s essay on Comets. Miss Gibbs, with a 
growing tightness round her lips, inspected Ray- 
monde’s extracts from Chaucer, and Katherine’s 
translation of Virgil, before Aveline had the pres- 
ence of mind to hand up Maudie Heywood’s copy. 
It is unwise for a mistress to show temper before 
visitors, and Miss Gibbs, with admirable self-con- 
trol, mastered her feelings and read the paragraph 
calmly. During the discussion which followed, the 
girls availed themselves of an invitation from the 
short-sighted gentleman to inspect the earthworks, 
and thankfully fled to the farthest limits of the 

( 0 887 ) 5 


66 The Madcap of the School 

field. They knew, of course, that it was only 
putting off the evil hour, and further events justi- 
fied their forebodings. Miss Gibbs preserved an 
ominous silence on the way home, and after tea 
summoned the Form to their class-room, where she 
went into exhaustive details of the whole business. 

“I’m disgusted with you — utterly disgusted!” 
she declared. “ It seems of little use to spend time 
in attempting to give you intellectual interests. 
Those girls who did not copy the notes will stay 
in now and write them. I shall look at them all at 
eight o’clock.” 

“ It means a good solid hour’s work,” whispered 
Raymonde to Ardiune. “Tennis is off to-night. 
Strafe the old camp! I wish the Romans had 
never lived!” 


* 


CHAPTER VI 


A Midnight Scare 

Miss Gibbs’s plans for the enlargement of her 
pupils’ minds ran over a wide range of subjects 
from archaeology to ambulance. As they expressed 
it, she was always springing some fresh surprise 
upon them. Like bees, they were expected to sip 
mental honey from many intellectual flowers. They 
had dabbled in chemistry till Ardiune spilt acid 
down Miss Gibbs’s dress, after which the experi- 
ments suddenly stopped. They had collected fruits 
and seed-vessels, had studied animalculae through 
the microscope, and modelled fungi in plasticine. 
Stencilling, illuminating, painting, and marque- 
terie each had a brief turn, and were superseded 
by raffia-plaiting and poker-work. Miss Beasley 
suggested tentatively that it might be better to con- 
centrate on a single subject, but Miss Gibbs, who 
loved arguments about education, was well pre- 
pared to defend her line of action. 

‘ 1 There is always a danger in specialization,” 
she replied. “You can’t tell how a girl’s tastes 
will run till you give her an opportunity of proving 
them. My theory is, let them try each separate 
craft, and then choose their own hobbies. One 
will take naturally to oil-painting, another may 


68 The Madcap of the School 

find clay or gesso her means of artistic expression. 
Some minds delight in pure Greek outline, while 
others revel in the intricacies of Celtic ornament. 
Again, a girl with no aesthetic sense may be en- 
raptured with the wonders of the microscope, and 
those who find a difficulty in mastering the tech- 
nical terms of botany may yet excel in the extent of 
their collections of specimens. Who would have 
imagined that Veronica Terry would develop an 
interest in geology? I had always considered her 
a remarkably dull child, but her fossils formed the 
nucleus of the school museum. I have hopes at 
present that one or two of my girls are developing 
tastes that will last them for life.” 

It was one of Miss Gibbs’s pet theories that not 
only should her pupils have the opportunity of 
sampling arts, handicrafts, and scientific pursuits, 
but that they should in every respect cultivate a 
wide mental horizon. She was fond of suggesting 
emergencies to them, and asking how they would 
act in special circumstances. 

“ Imagine yourself left a widow,” she had once 
propounded, “with three small children to sup- 
port, and a capital of only three hundred pounds. 
How would you employ this sum to the best ad- 
vantage, so as to provide some future means ot 
subsistence for yourself and family?” 

The opinions of the Form had been interesting, 
and had varied from poultry farming to the estab- 
lishment of a boarding-house or the setting up of 
tea-rooms. The most original suggestion, how- 
ever, was contributed by Fauvette, and, while it 
outraged Miss Gibbs’s sense of propriety, caused 
infinite hilarity in the Form. 


v 


6g 


A Midnight Scare 

“ If I were left a widow,’* she wrote, “ I should 
get the children into orphanages, or persuade rich 
friends to adopt them. Then I would spend the 
three hundred pounds in buying new clothes and 
staying at the best hotels, and try to get married 
again to somebody who could provide for me 
better.” 

Among the flights of fancy in which the Fifth 
Form were forced to indulge were a railway collision, 
a fire, a bicycle accident, an escape of gas, the 
swallowing of poison, the bursting of the kitchen 
boiler, a case of choking, and an infectious epi- 
demic. On the whole they rather enjoyed the fun 
of airing their views, and when asked to propose 
fresh topics had suggested such startling catas- 
trophes as “A German Invasion ”, “A Revolution”, 
“ A Volcanic Eruption”, “A Famine”, and “A 
Zeppelin Raid”. 

Rejecting the first four, Miss Gibbs had chosen 
the last for discussion, and for fully ten minutes the 
Form, in imagination, dwelt in an atmosphere of 
explosives. They clutched their few valuables that 
were within reach, donned dressing-gowns and bed- 
room slippers, each seized a blanket, and all de- 
scended to the cellars with the utmost dispatch of 
which they were capable, while bombs came crash- 
ing through the roof, and the walls of the house 
tottered to ruin. 

“I shall never dare to go to sleep again!” 
shivered Fauvette, appalled at the mental picture 
presented to her. 

i ‘Are the Zepps likely to come, Miss Gibbs?” 
enquired Ardiune. 

“ Not so likely at this time of year as in winter. 


70 The Madcap of the School 

Still, of course, one never can tell,” replied the mis- 
tress, anxious to justify the usefulness of her emer- 
gency lessons. “It is wise to know what to do. 
We ought all to adopt the Boy Scouts’ motto — ‘ Be 
Prepared’.” 

“And suppose we ever do hear dreadful noises in 
the middle of the night?” said Raymonde, gazing 
with solemn, awestruck eyes at the teacher. 

“ Then you must make for the cellar without 
delay,” replied Miss Gibbs emphatically. 

If she could have seen Raymonde’s expression, 
as that young lady turned her head for a moment 
towards Aveline, she would have been surprised. 
The serious apprehension had changed to dancing 
mischief. Even so well-seasoned a mistress as Miss 
Gibbs, however, cannot be aware of every sub-cur- 
rent in her Form. Human nature has its limits. 

Raymonde left the class-room chuckling to her- 
self, and at the earliest convenient moment sum- 
moned a committee of the Mystic Seven. 

“I’ve got the idea of my life!” she declared. 
“ It isn’t often I have a really topping notion, but 
this is one of those inspirations that come some- 
times, one doesn’t know how.” 

“You needn’t be quite so peacocky about it!” 
chirruped Katherine. “Other people have ideas 
occasionally as well as you.” 

“Ah! but wait till you’ve heard mine, and then 
you’ll allow I’ve some reason to cock-a-doodle. 
Look here, don’t you think it’s extremely nice to be 
philanthropic?” 

“ Don’t know,” replied the others doubtfully. 
They distrusted Raymonde’s philanthropy, and 
were unwilling to commit themselves. 


A Midnight Scare 71 

“ It’s so nice to do things for others,” continued 
their schoolmate gushingly. i ‘When somebody 
has been looking forward to an event, just think of 
the bliss of being able to bring it to pass! One 
would feel a sort of mixture of Santa Claus and 
Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother!” 

“Go on!” murmured the Mystics. 

“Well, you see, what I mean is this. Gibbie’s 
been taking ever such a lot of trouble to teach us 
how to act in emergencies. She must have spent 
hours thinking out those problems. I sometimes 
feel, girls, that we do not sufficiently appreciate our 
teachers ! ” 

The grimaces of the six were eloquent. 

“ Get to the point!” suggested Ardiune. 

“I’m getting! Well, you know, we’re all very 
grateful to Gibbie, and interested in the problems, 
and happy in our work, and all the rest of it. I 
think we ought to do something to make a little 
return to her for her kindness. Now it must be 
very disappointing to coach us up for these emer- 
gencies, and never have an opportunity of putting 
what we’ve been taught into practice. If we could 
show her that her lessons have sunk in, and that we 
could face a sudden catastrophe with calm courage 
and prompt presence of mind, then she’d feel her 
labour had not been in vain. She really deserves 
it!” 

“We can’t burst the kitchen boiler, or set the 
cook on fire to oblige her!” objected Valentine. 

“Certainly not; but there are other emergencies. 
With proper preparation we might engineer a 
very neat little Zepp raid, quite sufficient to put 
every theory into practice.” 


72 The Madcap of the School 

Smiles illuminated the faces of the committee. 
They began to see daylight. Raymonde re-tied 
her hair ribbon, and continued: 

“On that afternoon when I went exploring, I 
discovered a way on to the roof exactly over 
Gibbie’s bedroom. Now what you’ve got to do 
for the next few days is to collect old tins. There 
ought to be plenty of them about. You can leave 
the rest to me!” 

The result of Raymonde’s suggestion was an 
extraordinary activity on the part of her friends in 
the acquisition of any species of discarded can. 
They begged empty cocoa tins from the cook, and 
even climbed over the wall on to the rubbish heap 
to rescue specimens, rusty or otherwise, that lay 
there unnoticed and unappropriated. Each can 
was furnished with four or five large pebbles inside, 
and was secured at the end with brown paper if the 
original lid was lost. They were packed in osier- 
plaited baskets, and hidden away in a corner of the 
barn until they were wanted. 

Raymonde regarded her preparations with much 
satisfaction. 

“ It ought to be enough to wake the dead!” she 
said, rattling one of the tins in demonstration. 

As has been before explained, the members of 
the Fourth and Fifth Forms — nineteen girls in all 
— slept in the huge chamber which occupied an 
entire wing of the house, and had been the dormi- 
tory of the French nuns a hundred years ago. 
The small room at the end, formerly the cell of the 
Mother Superior, was now the bower of Miss 
Gibbs. It had two doors, one leading into the 
passage and another into the dormitory, so that she 


73 


A Midnight Scare 

could keep an eye upon the nineteen inmates. It 
was a very unnecessary arrangement to have her 
so near, the girls considered, for she would come 
popping in immediately if they made a noise. They 
envied the Sixth, who slept in little bedrooms along 
the corridor, and wished Miss Gibbs had possessed 
a lesser j»ense of duty and a greater appreciation of 
luxury, so that she might have chosen a more com- 
fortable and spacious bedroom elsewhere. 

When sufficient tin-can ammunition had been 
prepared, Raymonde carried the baskets upstairs 
by stealth, and hid them in the lumber cupboard 
which she had discovered on the day she had 
explored the roof. They were not likely to be 
disturbed here, for probably no one save herself 
knew of the existence of the tiny room. She crept 
through the small door on to the tiles, and verified 
her position by cautious tapping, to which Morvyth, 
stationed in the passage below with a hockey stick, 
replied. Having thus taken her exact bearings, 
she felt that the whole plot was in good training. 

“We must choose a moonlight night, or I 
shouldn’t be able to see my way over the roof,” 
she informed the committee. “ Of course Zepps 
don’t generally come when there’s a moon, but 
there’ll be no time for anybody to think of that. 
You know your part of the business?” 

“ Ra — ther!” 

The household at the Grange retired early to 
rest. Miss Gibbs, who was an ardent advocate 
of daylight saving, and always rose at six, was 
generally in bed by eleven, on the theory that it 
is impossible to burn a candle at both ends. As 
a rule, every occupant of the long dormitory was 


74 The Madcap of the School 

wrapt in slumber before that hour, and the mis- 
tress, taking a last peep at the rows of small beds, 
would hear nothing but peaceful breathing. On 
one particular evening, however, when she made 
her usual survey of the room, seven of the apparent 
sleepers were foxing. They lay with closed eyes 
and composed faces, but inwardly they were par- 
ticularly lively. Each one had solemnly passed 
her word to keep awake, and considered herself on 
sentry duty. To pass the time they had brought 
acid drops to bed with them, and sucked them 
slowly, so as to make them last as long as possible. 
They dared not talk, for fear of disturbing the 
others, though the temptation was great. Occa- 
sionally a stealthy hand would reach over to the 
next bed, to make sure of its occupant’s vigilance, 
and the squeeze would be passed on down the row 
of seven. 

When the old grandfather clock on the stairs 
chimed midnight, Raymonde and Morvyth rose 
quietly, and donned dressing-gowns and bedroom 
slippers, then, with a final signal to their fellow 
mystics, crept cautiously out of the room. The 
passage was very dark, but Morvyth had brought 
her electric torch, and flashed a ray of light in 
front of them. It felt decidedly spooky, and they 
were thankful to be together. They went up the 
stairs towards the servants’ quarters, and along 
an upper landing. By the aid of the torch it was 
not difficult to find the secret door among the 
panelling. The little lumber-room looked hor- 
ribly dark; it needed an effort of will to enter 
among its dim shadows. A rat was gnawing in 
the corner, and scurried away with noise enough 


75 


A Midnight Scare 

for a lion. Raymonde peeped through the small 
door on to the roof. Outside, the moon was shin- 
ing brilliantly. She could see each separate tile 
as clearly as by daylight. The sight restored her 
courage. 

“Til creep through, and then you hand me the 
baskets,” she whispered. “I know just the place 
to drop the tins. They’ll go plump, and roll down 
the whole length of the gable.” 

“ Right-o, old sport!” returned Morvyth. 

Miss Gibbs lay in her bedroom, sleeping the 
sleep of the just. The moonlight, flooding through 
her hygienically wide-open window, revealed the 
rows of photographs on her chimney-piece, the gilt- 
edged volumes on her book-shelf, and the little 
emergency medicine cupboard on the wall. Was 
she dreaming of the lesson she meant to give to- 
morrow, or of the officer whose portrait, in the 
silver frame, occupied the post of honour in her 
picture gallery? Who could tell? Unsympathetic 
schoolgirls do not know all the secrets of a teacher’s 
life. Perhaps Miss Gibbs, like the familiar chest- 
nut burr, hid a silver lining under her prickly 
exterior. She slept so peacefully — it was a shame 
to disturb her. Schoolgirls are ruthless beings at 
best. 

Bang! Rattle! Bang! Bump! She woke with 
a start. Projectiles were falling upon the roof with 
terrific force. At the same moment shrieks issued 
from the dormitory, and a wild shout of “Zepps!” 
Miss Gibbs’s presence of mind did not desert her. 
It took her exactly three seconds to put on her 
dressing-gown and bedroom slippers, two more to 
sweep her watch, purse, and a little packet of 


76 The Madcap of the School 

treasures (placed nightly in readiness) into the 
ample pocket of her wrapper, and the next instant 
she was flashing her torchlight in the dormitory. 

The girls, most of them very scared, were turning 
out of bed; Aveline, Fauvette, Valentine, Ardiune, 
and Katherine were already garbed, and encourag- 
ing the others. Before a minute and a half had 
elapsed, the whole party was on its way to the 
cellar, having rung the great bell on the stairs 
to warn the rest of the household. 

Raymonde and Morvyth, having expended the 
ammunition, hurried downstairs, and slipped in 
among their Form mates unobserved. The school 
spent an agitated hour in the cellar, sitting on 
blankets clutched from their beds. As all ap- 
peared quiet, and no more mysterious thumps 
resounded on the roof, Miss Beasley, who had re- 
connoitred, declared it safe to return to roost, and 
ordered her twenty-six pupils upstairs again. Pos- 
sibly she had her suspicions, for very early next 
morning she went out to investigate the extent of 
the damage, and discovered a selection of the pro- 
jectiles lying on the lawn. The result was a solemn 
harangue to the whole school. 

“ I don’t know who has played this contemptible 
practical joke,” she proclaimed witheringly. “ It 
may seem humorous to small minds, but to me it 
is pitiable. There were no doubt instigators amongst 
you, and for the sake of those ringleaders I shall 
punish you all. You will spend Wednesday after- 
noon in your class-rooms copying out “ Lycidas ”, 
instead of taking our projected trip on the river. 
It is hard to punish the innocent with the guilty, 
but those responsible for this occurrence are prob- 


77 


A Midnight Scare 

ably known to their companions, who will, I hope, 
visit their displeasure upon them, and cause them 
to regret that they have deprived the school of a 
holiday. ” 

Miss Beasley’s method of punishment, though 
voted abominably unfair by the majority, was cer- 
tainly efficacious. Such grave suspicion fell on the 
Mystic Seven that the indignant monitresses took 
the matter in hand, and insisted on investigating 
the entire business. Popular opinion raged hotly 
against the culprits, for the promised expedition to 
the river had been regarded as the treat of the 
term. 

“ I believe it’s all your fault, Raymonde Armi- 
tage!” scolded Linda Mottram. “ If there’s any 
mischief about, one may be sure you’re at the 
bottom of it. We don’t want your monkey tricks 
here. They’re on the level of a kindergarten for 
little boys. If anything more of this sort happens, 
you may expect to find yourself jolly well boy- 
cotted. I shan’t speak to you, in any case, for 
a week, and I hope none of the other monitresses 
will. You deserve sending to Coventry by every- 
body.” 

“ How hard it is to be public-spirited I” mourned 
Raymonde to her chums afterwards. “I’m sure 
I gave everybody a treat, and especially Gibbie. 
I’m a martyr to the cause of emergencies. For 
goodness’ sake don’t any of you drink poison by 
mistake, or they’ll lay the blame on me and send 
me to the gallows I” 


CHAPTER VII 


The Crystal Gazers 

It was about this time that a wave of the occult 
passed over the school. It began with Daphne 
Johnson, who happened to read a magazine article 
on “The Borderland of the Spirit World ”, and it 
spread like an epidemic of influenza. The super- 
natural was the topic of the hour. Ghost stones 
were at a premium, and any girl who could relate 
some creepy spiritual experience, which had hap- 
pened to the second cousin of a friend of a friend 
of hers, was sure of a thrilled audience. This taste 
for the psychic was particularly strong among the 
girls of the Sixth Form, who leaned towards its 
intellectual and scientific aspects. They despised 
vulgar apparitions, but discussed such abstruse 
problems as phantasms of the living, thought trans- 
ference, will power, hypnotism, and clairvoyance. 
Meta Wright dabbled a little in palmistry, and 
examined the hands of her schoolmates, prophesy- 
ing startling events in their future careers. Lois 
Barlow sent half-a- crown to a ladies’ newspaper 
to have her horoscope cast, and was terribly de- 
jected at the gloomy prospects offered her by the 
planets, till she fortunately discovered that she had 
put the date of her birth wrong by three hours, 


79 


The Crystal Gazers 

which would, of course, completely alter the aspect 
of the heavenly bodies, and cause the best of astrol- 
ogers to err. Veronica Terry talked darkly of ex- 
periences in the psychic world, of astral bodies, 
etheric doubles, elemental entities, and nature 
spirits. She went to sleep at night with her thumbs 
and big toes crossed, in the hope of bringing back 
the adventures of her dreams into her waking con- 
sciousness. She was a little hazy on the subject, 
but yearned for further instruction. 

“It’s called ‘Yoga’,” she confided to her par- 
ticular chum, Barbara Rowlands. “You concen- 
trate your mind before you go to sleep, and then 
you’re able to function in the astral body. My 
cousin Winnie told me of a girl at College who 
did it, and she was seen standing in the room of 
a friend at the other side of the hostel, while all the 
time she was asleep in bed.” 

“ I hope you won’t do that!” shuddered Barbara 
nervously. “ It would give me a fit if I woke up 
and found you staring at me, and knew it wasn’t 
really you. Promise you won’t!” 

“It may be rather difficult to regulate one’s 
movements, once one is out of the body,” returned 
Veronica guardedly. 

Barbara did not crave for spiritual excursions, 
and secretly preferred the old days, when her chum 
talked tennis instead of psychology; but the occult 
was paramount, and she was obliged to follow the 
fashion. The atmosphere of the Grange was cer- 
tainly conducive to superstition. The dim passages 
and panelled walls looked haunted. Every acces- 
sory of the old mansion seemed a suitable back- 
ground for a ghost. The juniors were frankly 


80 The Madcap of the School 

frightened. They did not dare to go upstairs alone. 
They imagined skeleton fingers clutching their 
legs through the banisters, or bodiless heads roll- 
ing like billiard balls along the landings. Having 
listened, awestruck, to Veronica’s accounts of a 
seance, they were apprehensive lest the tables 
should turn sportive and caper about the rooms 
rapping out spirit messages, or boisterous ele- 
mentals should bump the beds up and down and 
fling the china about. 

“ That only happens if there’s a powerful medium 
in the house,” Veronica had assured them, and the 
girls devoutly hoped that none of their number 
possessed the required mystic properties. 

“ Look here,” said Raymonde one day to Ardiune, 
“ I’m getting rather fed up with this spook busi- 
ness.” 

“ So’m I,” agreed Ardiune. “I thought it was 
fun at first, but it’s got beyond the limit now. 
The sillies can talk of nothing else. I’m sick 
of sitting on Veronica’s bed and hearing about 
mediums and messages. I’d like a potato race 
for a change. I vote we get up some progressive 
games.” 

“ It would be more jinky ! I fancy a good many 
are tired of ghosts, only they don’t like to say so. 
Ardiune! I’ve got an idea! While the school’s 
still mad on these things, why shouldn’t we have 
some fun out of it? Play a rag on them, you 
know.” 

“ Dress up in a sheet and rub wet matches on 
one’s hands?” suggested Ardiune. 

“No, no! Nothing so stale as that! Why, it 
would hardly take in the juniors for more than a 


8i 


The Crystal Gazers 

minute. I’m angling for bigger fish. I want to 
hook the Sixth!” 

“ H’m! Not so easy, my good girl!” 

“ It needs craft, of course, and one must have a 
suitable bait. The common or garden ghost trick 
would be useless. I want something subtle. If 
I could have developed mediumistic powers, now, 
and gone into a trance!” 

“Couldn’t you?” queried Ardiune eagerly. 

Raymonde shook a regretful head. 

“ Veronica knows too much about seances. She 
says the great test of the trance is to stick pins into 
the medium. If she doesn’t utter a groan, then 
her conscious entity is suspended, and a spirit is 
about to materialize. I couldn’t stand being a 
living pin-cushion. I know I’d squeal.” 

“ But we might pad you with cushions. Seances 
are always held in the dark, so they wouldn’t find 
out.” 

“Trust Veronica to find my vulnerable spot! 
She detests me, and she’d just enjoy prodding me 
up with pins. No, we must have something less 
painful than that, please.” 

“Table-turning might be possible?” 

“The Sixth did it, and the table was beginning 
to go round quite nicely when they discovered that 
Linda was pushing the leg. I think pretty nearly 
everything occult has been tried here lately, except 
just one. We’ve not had any crystal gazing.” 

“ How d’you do that?” 

“Don’t you remember that chapter in Zilla, the 
Sahara Queen ? How she goes to the Coptic 
magician, and he pours some ink into a little boy’s 
hand, and sees all her future in it?” 

<0 887 ) 


6 


82 The Madcap of the School 

“Ink would stain horribly, ” commented Ar- 
diune. 

“Yes, I don’t mean to use ink. What I want is 
a crystal. There’s something on Gibbie’s chimney- 
piece that would do jolly well. I believe I’ll 
borrow it! I know just how to manage, because 
Mabel and Sylvia went to consult a psychist in 
Bond Street, and they told me all about it, and 
everything she said and did. As a matter of fact 
she described Mabel’s fiance quite wrong, and pre- 
tended she saw him sitting in a dug-out, while all 
the time he was on a battleship; but they thought 
it great fun, because they hadn’t really intended to 
believe her.” 

“ Would the girls believe you?” 

“ Certainly not as Raymonde Armitage. I don’t 
mean them to know me. We’re going to disguise 
ourselves, so that our very mothers wouldn’t own 
us.” 

“Whew!” 

Ardiune looked decidedly sceptical. 

“Wait till I’ve done telling you before you pull 
faces, you old bluebottle! Can’t you trust me by 
now to get up a decent rag? Yes, I’m offended! 
All right, I’ll accept apologies. Now if you’re 
really listening, I’ll explain. You know the gipsies 
are camping down by the river. Everybody in 
the school has noticed their caravans, and realizes 
they’re there. Now what’s more natural than for 
a couple of these gipsies to stroll round by the barn 
some evening during recreation time, and offer to 
predict the future? Katherine and Ave could be 
in the secret, have their fortunes told first, and then 
bring others. We’d install ourselves in the old 


The Crystal Gazers 83 

cow-house; it's so dark, no one would see us very 
plainly.” 

“ Ray, you’ve enough imagination for a novelist!” 
murmured Ardiune admiringly. 

Having settled their plan of campaign, the next 
step was to carry out details. The question of 
costume loomed largest. 

“We must look real gipsies, not stage ones,” 
decreed Raymonde. “The thing’s got to be done 
properly, if it’s done at all."* 

They ransacked the property box used for school 
theatricals, and having selected some likely gar- 
ments, set to work on an ideal of realism. Two 
skirts were carefully torn on nails, artistically 
stained with rust and mud, and rubbed on the 
barn floor to give them an extra tone. Some cotton 
bodices were similarly treated. Shoes were a knotty 
problem, for gipsies do not generally affect trim 
footgear, yet nobody at the Grange possessed 
worn-out or dilapidated boots. In the end Ray- 
monde carefully unpicked the stitches in her oldest 
pairs to give them the requisite burst appearance, 
and with the aid of a file rubbed the respectability 
from them. A dip in the mud of the moat com- 
pleted the transformation. Some cheap beads and 
coloured handkerchiefs, and a faint wash of Van- 
dyke brown over face and hands, gave the finishing 
touches. 

In the interval between preparation and supper, 
when several members of the Sixth Form were pur- 
suing carpentry and other industrial occupations 
in the barn, Aveline Kerby entered to borrow a 
screw-driver. She conversed casually on the topics 
of wood -carving, photography, pressed flowers, 


84 The Madcap of the School 

and kindred hobbies; then, just as she was leaving, 
turned back and remarked, apparently as an after- 
thought: 

“Oh, by the by, do you know there are two 
gipsies in the cow-house? They’re from the caravan 
by the river. They came in through the back gate, 
begging, and Morvyth happened to meet them. 
They offered to tell her fortune, so she took them 
into the cow-house, so that Gibbie shouldn’t see 
them. She says they’re marvellous. They de- 
scribed her mother exactly, and her brother at the 
front. Isn’t it wonderful how they can do it?” 

“Are they there still?” asked Veronica, swallow- 
ing the bait. 

“ I believe so. At least they were, five minutes 
ago. Elsie Moseley and Cynthia Greene had gone 
to see them. I’d go myself, but I’ve spent all my 
allowance, and of course one has to cross their 
palms with the orthodox piece of silver, I suppose. 
It’s hard luck to be stony-broke. Ta-ta! Thanks 
for the screw-driver!” 

Aveline beat a judicious retreat, and left her 
words to work. As she had expected, the news 
of the arrival of the occultists was received with 
interest. 

“ It’s an extraordinary thing that gipsies are so 
often gifted with psychic powers,” commented Meta. 

“They’re children of nature,” returned Veronica. 
“ I suppose our ultra-civilization blunts our astral 
perceptions. One finds marvellous things among 
the hill tribes in India — things that can’t be ex- 
plained by any known rules of science.” 

“I suppose these ancient races have inherited 
secrets that we can’t grasp?” 


85 


The Crystal Gazers 

“Yes, they follow forgotten laws of nature. 
Some day, no doubt, science will rediscover them.” 

Veronica spoke seriously. During the holidays 
she had studied the subject by the aid of books 
borrowed from the Free Library. 

“ I should like just to go and have a look at these 
gipsies,” she added. “Will you come with me?” 

She voiced the feelings of the others. They rose 
with one accord, and went in the direction of the 
cow-shed. They met Cynthia Greene and Elsie 
Moseley coming out, half-awed, half-giggling. At 
the sight of monitresses they dived round the corner 
of the building, and escaped into the orchard. 

“ It’s certainly our duty to investigate,” pro- 
pounded Meta. 

It is pleasant when duty and inclination coincide. 
The girls walked forward briskly. The interior of 
the cow-house was dark as an Eastern temple. The 
gipsies had established themselves in the dimmest 
corner, and were squatting on bundles of straw 
under a manger. Obviously they were extremely 
dirty and dilapidated. Their hands and faces ap- 
peared to be unacquainted with soap and water, 
their clothes were tattered, their shoes seemingly 
in the last stage of decrepitude. 

“Tell your fortunes, my pretty ladies?” pattered 
one of the Romanys. Her voice was hoarse but 
conciliatory. Possibly she had a cold — tents are 
notoriously draughty sleeping-places. 

“We don’t care about vulgar fortunes, we are 
really interested,” commenced Veronica. “What 
we’d like to know is how you get your powers. 
Where does your knowledge of the future come 
from? I’ve always wanted to ask this.” 


86 The Madcap of the School 

The gipsy woman shook her head pityingly. 

“ Ah, lady! We don’t know ourselves! It comes 
to us suddenly. Like a flash of light we see your 
future — then it fades. It’s a sixth sense that’s given 
to the poor gipsies. They’re born with it, and they 
can’t explain it any more than you can explain the 
breath of your body.” 

“ I’ve often heard of this sixth sense,” whispered 
Daphne to Lois. 

‘‘Sometimes we feel what’s going to be, and 
sometimes we see it,” continued the gipsy, fumbling 
with something in her lap. “We can’t tell before- 
hand which way the knowledge will come.” 

“What’s that you’ve got there?” asked Veronica 
sharply. “Is it a crystal?” 

“You’re right, lady. It is a crystal, and a 
wonderful one too. My grandmother got it from 
— but no! I’d best not be telling that. I wouldn’t 
part with it, lady, if the Queen offered me her 
crown in exchange. Take it in your hand! Look 
how it sparkles! It doesn’t often shine like that — 
only when someone with the sixth sense holds it.” 

“I’ve sometimes suspected that I possess psychic 
powers!” murmured Veronica complacently. 

“Would you like to learn the future, lady?” 
queried the gipsy. “Then hold it so, in your 
hands, for a minute. Now it has felt you and 
known you, and it will tell — oh, yes! it will tell!” 

She took the crystal again, and turned to the 
companion who squatted beside her on the floor. 

“Zara! Look what is coming to the lady,” she 
commanded softly. 

Zara, who had apparently been in a deep reverie, 
roused herself with a start, placed the crystal in her 


87 


The Crystal Gazers 

lap with the first finger and the thumb of each hand 
lightly touching it, and stared fixedly into the magic 
glass. For a moment or two the future seemed 
obscured, then evidently it cleared. She began to 
speak in a deep, monotonous voice, as if talking 
in her sleep. 

“I see the sea — waves — waves — everywhere. 
There is a ship — oh! it has changed. I see sand, 
and a white house, and palm trees. A soldier in 
khaki is coming out of the house. He stops to 
speak to a servant — a black man in a turban — he 
is angry — he frowns — he goes again into the white 
house. Oh, it is fading — it is gone!” 

“ My brother Leslie’s in Egypt!” gasped 
Veronica, much impressed. 

She would have requested a continuance of the 
vision, but at that moment the dressing-bell clanged 
loudly. It was plainly time to go and tidy up for 
supper. 

“ If you could come again to-morrow about five,” 
she suggested, pressing a coin into the gipsy’s 
ready hand. 

“Yes, lady, if we’re still in the neighbourhood. 
We never know when we’ll be moving on, you see. 
But we’ll try to oblige you if we can.” 

Raymonde’s and Ardiune’s toilets that evening 
would have done credit to quick-change variety 
artistes. With clean faces and hands, and their 
dresses at least half fastened, they slipped into their 
places at the supper-table just in time; a little 
flurried, perhaps, but preserving an outward calm. 
So far their scheme had succeeded admirably. 
The Sixth appeared to have no suspicions. 

They repeated their performance on the following 


88 The Madcap of the School 

day, installing themselves in the cow-house, and 
receiving relays of enquirers who came to consult 
them as to their future. Knowing somewhat of the 
private history of each member of the school, they 
got on excellently, and their reputation spread till 
more than half the girls had paid surreptitious 
visits to their retreat. All might have gone well, 
and their secret might have remained undiscovered, 
had it not been for Veronica’s friendship with 
Mademoiselle. Veronica was so impressed with 
the value of the crystal’s information that she could 
not help confiding the news, and bringing the im- 
pressionable Belgian to consult the seer for herself. 

Ardiune’s visions of smoking ruins and rescued 
refugees left Mademoiselle almost speechless. She 
in her turn felt impelled to seek a confidante, and 
imparted the wonderful revelations to Miss Gibbs. 

That worthy lady immediately set off for the cow- 
house. As she entered there was a scuttling of 
juniors, who sought safety behind the partition. 
Raymonde stared for a moment aghast, then whis- 
pered to Ardiune: “ Bluff it out!” 

Miss Gibbs proceeded in an absolutely business- 
like manner. She requested a consultation, and 
listened while the gipsy, decidedly nervous, gave 
a rambling description of a dark gentleman and an 
Indian temple. 

“Thank you,” she said at last. “ I think it only 
fair to warn you that you can be prosecuted and 
fined twenty-five pounds for telling fortunes. I 
should like to know where you got that crystal! 
It’s remarkably like the ball of glass that was 
broken off my Venetian vase. I missed it yester- 
day from my mantelpiece. By the by ” — stooping 


8 9 


The Crystal Gazers 

down suddenly, and pulling aside the handkerchief 
from Zara’s swarthy neck — 1 ‘you are wearing a 
locket and chain that I know to be the property of 
one of my pupils. It is my duty immediately to 
put you in the hands of the police.” 

The game was up! The disconcerted gipsies 
rose from their alcove, and came back from the 
psychic to the material world. It was a hard, 
exacting, unsympathetic world as mirrored in Miss 
Gibbs’s keen grey eyes. She told them briefly to 
go and wash their faces and change their attire, 
then to report themselves in the class-room, where 
she would be at work correcting exercises. 

“You can bring with you the money that you 
have collected over this business,” she added. 

Half an hour later, two clean, tidy, but dejected 
pupils entered the class-room, and placed the sum 
of thirteen and ninepence upon her desk. Miss 
Gibbs counted it over scrupulously. 

“Any girls who were foolish enough to give you 
this, deserve to lose it,” she remarked, “and I shall 
send it as a contribution to the Red Cross Fund. 
You will each learn two pages of Curtis’s Historical 
Notes by heart, and repeat them to me to-morrow 
after morning school. I may mention that I con- 
sider it a great liberty for any girl to enter my 
bedroom and remove ornaments from my mantel- 
piece.” 

That evening, after preparation and supper, the 
entire school, instead of being allowed to pursue 
fancy work, was summoned to the lecture hall, and 
harangued by Miss Beasley upon the follies and 
dangers of superstition. She touched upon ancient 
beliefs in witchcraft, and modern credulity in clair- 


90 The Madcap of the School 

voyance and spiritualism, and placed an equal ban 
upon both. 

‘‘In these enlightened times, with all the ad- 
vantages of education to dispel ignorance,” she 
concluded, “it is incredible to me that anybody 
can still be found ready to believe in such nonsense. 
I beg you all, and especially those elder girls who 
should be leaders of the rest, to turn your thoughts 
and conversation to some healthier topic, and to let 
these morbid fancies sink into the obscurity they 
deserve.” 

“It was a nasty hit for the monitresses !” whis- 
pered Ardiune to Raymonde afterwards. “Did 
you see Veronica turning as red as beetroot? We’ll 
have to wake early to-morrow morning, and swat 
at those wretched dates. It was grizzly bad luck 
Gibbie found us out!” 

“But on the whole the game was worth the 
candle!” proclaimed Raymonde unrepentantly. 


CHAPTER VIII 

The Beano 


After the events related in the last chapter, the 
monitresses suddenly awakened to a sense of their 
responsibility as leaders of the school. Particularly 
Veronica. She had a sensitive disposition, and 
Miss Beasley’s reproof rankled. She determined 
to set an example to the younger ones, and to be 
zealous in keeping order and enforcing rules. She 
held a surprise inspection of the juniors’ desks and 
drawers, and pounced upon illicit packets of choco- 
late; she examined their books, and confiscated any 
which she considered unsuitable; she put a ban 
upon slang, and wrote out a new set of dormitory 
regulations. Her efforts were hardly so much ap- 
preciated as they deserved. The girls grumbled at 
this unanticipated tightening of the reins. 

“We’ve always bought sweets and kept them 
in our desks,” declared Joan Butler. “ I believe 
Veronica used to do it herself.” 

“ Life wouldn’t be worth living without choco- 
lates!” mourned Nora Fawcitt. 

“And we always used to scramble for the bath- 
room in the mornings, ever since I’ve been here,” 
groused Dorothy Newstead. “ It’s no fun to wait 
in a queue.” 


92 The Madcap of the School 

The Fifth fared no better than the Fourth, and 
being older, their indignation was even hotter. 

“ Veronica took away Adam Bede } and said it 
wasn’t ‘suitable’!” fumed Aveline. “She told me 
I might read Scott and Dickens instead. And I’d 
just got to the interesting part! It’s too idiotic!” 

“ I can’t see why Veronica need act censor to all 
our reading,” agreed Katherine bitterly. “Why 
should we be allowed Jane Austen and not Char- 
lotte Bronte?” 

“Little girls mustn’t read love stories!” mocked 
Raymonde. 

“But they’re all love stories — Scott’s and Dickens’s 
and Jane Austen’s and everyone’s! How about 
Shakespeare? There’s heaps of love-making in 
Romeo and Juliet , and we took that with Professor 
Marshall!” 

“ I don’t think Gibbie ever quite approved of it. 
She thought it indiscreet of the Professor, I’m sure, 
and likely to put ideas into our heads!” 

“Does she expect we’ll go eloping over the 
garden wall? Perhaps that’s why she keeps such 
a vigilant look-out with the telescope!” 

“ It’s quite bad enough to have Gibbie always 
on our trail,” said Ardiune gloomily, “but when 
it comes to Veronica turning watch-dog as well, 
I call it an outrage!” 

“I think Fifth-Form girls have responsibilities 
as well as monitresses,” grunted Raymonde. “It’s 
not good for Veronica to take life so earnestly! 
She’ll grow old before her time. The Bumble’s 
always rubbing it into us to make the most of 
our girlhood, and not be little premature women, 
so I vote we live up to her theory. It’s Veronica’s 


The Beano 


93 


last term here. She ought to be bubbling and 
girlish, and carry away happy memories of her 
light-hearted school-days when she goes out into 
the wide world to be a woman. I consider it’s our 
duty to look after this. The Bumble says the value 
of school life consists in its ‘give and take’. We’re 
taking a good deal from Veronica at present, so we 
must give her something back. Let’s teach her to 
be kittenish and playful.” 

The chums exploded. The idea of the serious- 
minded Veronica developing a bubbling or kit- 
tenish manner was too much for them. 

“We did pretty well when we took Maudie 
Hey wood in hand,” urged Raymonde. “She’s 
wonderfully improved. Never exceeds the speed 
limit in her lessons, and if she writes extra essays 
she keeps them to herself, and doesn’t flaunt them 
before the Form. And there was Cynthia Greene, 
too! We don’t hear a word about The Poplars 
now, or her wretched bracelet. It may be difficult, 
perhaps, but we’ll do our best with Veronica. We 
must regard ourselves as sort of missionaries.” 

Having decided that it was their vocation to 
cultivate a spirit of artless happiness in the school, 
the Mystic Seven set to work on Veronica. She 
did not respond to their efforts; on the contrary, 
she seemed to resent them. When they attempted 
to introduce lighter veins of conversation, she re- 
proached them with being frivolous. She frowned 
on riddles, limericks, and puns. One day she so 
far forgot herself as to murmur “Cheeky kids!” 

Raymonde, with a shocked and grieved expres- 
sion, looked at the illuminated card deprecating the 
use of slang, which had lately been hung in the 


94 The Madcap of the School 

lecture hall, and Veronica flounced out of the 
room. 

That night, when the monitress went to bed, her 
sponge, nail-brush, tooth-brush, and cake of soap 
were missing, and it was only after a long search 
that she found them at the bottom of her emptied 
water-jug. On the next evening it was impossible 
for her to strike a light, owing to the fact that both 
her candle and matches had been carefully soaked 
beforehand in water. 

Veronica felt it was high time to lay the matter 
before her fellow-monitresses. They decided that 
such flagrant cases of insubordination must be 
promptly dealt with. In order to catch the offenders 
they laid a trap, Linda and Daphne concealing 
themselves in Veronica’s bedroom, while Veronica 
herself walked ostentatiously in the courtyard. 

As they had expected, it was not long before two 
stealthy figures came tiptoeing in, and were taken 
red-handed in the very act of constructing an 
apple-pie bed. The vials of wrath which descended 
upon the would-be practical jokers were enough to 
damp the spirits of even such madcaps as Ray- 
monde and Aveline. After all, monitresses are 
monitresses, and to affront them is rather like twist- 
ing a lion’s tail. Miss Gibbs herself could not 
have been more scathing in her sarcasms than 
Linda. For once the Mystics retired crushed, and 
with a due respect for their seniors. 

It was not in the nature of things, however, for 
Raymonde’s spirits to remain long below zero. 
After a decent period of immersion they once more 
rose to the surface. The occasion of their revival 
was sufficient to awaken enthusiasm in the most 


The Beano 95 

down-trodden and monitress- ridden of school- 
girls. 

A report was rumoured through the Grange; 
nobody seemed to know quite where it started, or 
what was the fount of information, but everybody 
said it was perfectly true, and girl whispered to 
girl the astounding secret. 

“The Bumble and the Wasp are going out to 
dinner on Thursday, and are to stay the night, 
only we’re not supposed to get a hint of it, so don’t 
breathe a word, or let on you’ve heard.” 

Circumstantial evidence seemed to confirm the 
statement. Emily, the sewing-maid, had been 
seen in the linen-room employed on some reno- 
vations to Miss Beasley’s best evening dress; Miss 
Gibbs’s suit-case had been brought down from the 
box-room to have its lock and handles polished; 
and Dorothy Newstead, concealed behind a laurel 
bush during a game of “Hide-and-seek”, had over- 
heard the Principal give instructions to the gardener 
to order a conveyance for Thursday evening at half- 
past six. Certainly nothing could be more con- 
clusive. Excitement was rife. Never in all the 
annals of the school had Miss Beasley and Miss 
Gibbs together taken a night off! 

“ It seems a shame to waste such a golden oppor- 
tunity!” said Raymonde enthusiastically. “Gibbie 
was talking to us only to-day about seizing our 
opportunities. 

“ ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, 

Old Time is still a-flying, 

And this same flower that smiles to-dav 
To-morrow will be dying!’ 

She quoted it most impressively.” 


96 The Madcap of the School 

“She didn’t go on to the verse about getting 
married while you’d the chance, though!” chuckled 
Ardiune. 

“ No, my child. Such a subject as matrimony 
is not supposed to be a fitting topic for a ladies’ 
school. Gibbie always gracefully shelves it. But 
you’re side-tracking, and I want to get back to my 
point. I was talking of opportunities, and never 
in the whole of our school-days shall we get such 
another as next Thursday. How are we going 
to make use of it? I vote for a beano in our 
dormitory.” 

“What’s a ‘ beano’?” demanded Fauvette’s plain- 
tive voice. “You’re always saying things I don’t 
understand.” 

“You’re young, child!” returned Raymonde in- 
dulgently, “and you can’t be expected to know 
everything. A beano is a bean-feast. Now don’t 
look alarmed! We’re not going to eat beans; we’ll 
have something far more appetizing — sardines, and 
tinned peaches, and biscuits, and anything else we 
can get. If the Bumble and the Wasp gad off to 
enjoy themselves, why shouldn’t we make a night 
of it too?” 

“ How about those kids?” 

“They’ll join in. It shall be an affair for the 
whole dormitory. We’ll share the treat, for once!” 

“You won’t get the monitresses to join,” inter- 
posed Katherine dubiously. 

“Shan’t ask them! I’ve settled all that in my 
mind. You know the big oak door across the pas- 
sage that leads to their rooms? Well, I’m going 
to fasten it after they’ve gone to bed, and lock them 
up in their own quarters.” 


The Beano 


97 

“That would be all right, old sport, if there were 
a key, but there isn’t.” 

“ Morvyth Holmes, d’you think I’m an infant? 
I know perfectly well there isn’t a key. I’m going 
to fix a screw in the door and another in the door- 
post beforehand, and then twist some strong wire 
across. It’ll act like a lock.” 

The Mystics stared at their leader in admiration. 
Her resourcefulness knew no bounds. With the 
monitresses safely boxed up in their bedrooms, any 
jinks would be possible in the dormitory. Of 
course there remained Mademoiselle, but she slept 
at the other side of the house, and from past experi- 
ence they judged that she was more likely to devote 
the evening to her own pleasure than to an over- 
strict attention to duty. The juniors, when sounded 
on the subject, responded to a girl. Even Cynthia 
Greene assented gleefully. Every occupant of the 
dormitory vowed with a solemn oath to preserve 
the secret at all costs. A fund was opened to 
defray expenses. How to get the provisions was 
the main difficulty. There was not a single servant 
in the establishment whom they felt was absolutely 
to be trusted. 

“ I believe even that new little Lizzie would go 
and sneak to the Bumble,” sighed Raymonde. 
“We shall have to go for the things ourselves. 
There’s nothing else for it. Who’ll volunteer? 
Oh! not all of you! We can’t trot off in a body. 
Look here, I’ll go with Morvyth.” 

The village, which lay half a mile away from the 
Grange, was out of bounds. It would be an ex- 
tremely risky proceeding for two girls, in the 
ordinary brown serge uniform and conspicuous 

( 0 887 ) 7 


98 The Madcap of the School 

hats of the school, to enter a shop and make pur- 
chases. Some tiresome busybody would be sure 
to see them, and report the matter to Miss Beasley. 

“ It’s a case of disguising ourselves,” decided 
Raymonde. “The maids keep their waterproofs 
and hats in the passage near the kitchen. We’ll 
turn up our hair, borrow what garments we want, 
and dash off between prep, and supper. Anyone 
noticing us on the road will think we’re new ser- 
vants from some house in the neighbourhood.” 

The audacity of the project almost staggered 
Morvyth, but as a member of the Mystic Seven 
she was pledged to follow her leader, and would 
not for worlds have displayed symptoms of the 
white feather, though her more cautious soul began 
to calculate consequences if caught. There were 
so many pitfalls in the path — servants, monitresses, 
and mistresses must be outwitted, both in going 
and returning, to make their excursion a success. 
The juniors, however, played up nobly. At a con- 
certed hour, they managed by cleverly concocted 
excuses to engage the attention of all the moni- 
tresses, and hold them busy for five minutes ex- 
plaining details of lessons or fancy work. Mean- 
time, Aveline and Valentine purloined waterproofs 
of a suitable length, together with appropriate hats, 
from the passage near the kitchen. 

Raymonde and Morvyth, after a rapid toilet and 
a hasty review of themselves in a looking-glass, 
were pleased with their appearance, especially the 
way they wore their hats. 

“Tilt yours a little more on one side,” com- 
manded Raymonde, “and open your mouth with 
a sort of cod-fishy expression, as if you’d got 


The Beano 


99 


adenoids. Remember, you want to look as com 
mon as possible. Drop your h’s when you speak, 
wherever you can. Say you’re in a ’urry to get 
back. I shall sniff all the time, as if I’d a bad 
cold.” 

“ I shall laugh if you do!” 

“ No, you won’t, because we’re going to different 
shops. I’ll do Adcock’s, and you shall have Sey- 
mour’s. It’ll be far better than going together.” 

Under cover of a guard of Form-mates the con- 
spirators managed to slip past the barns and off 
the premises, secure in the knowledge that Miss 
Gibbs was correcting exercises in the study, so 
could not possibly be watching them through her 
too useful telescope. Before arriving at the village 
they separated, Raymonde going a little in advance, 
and Morvyth following, as if they had no acquain- 
tance with each other. It was perhaps as well for 
their mutual composure that they visited separate 
shops, for Morvyth’s provincial accent and Ray- 
monde’s cold might have been mirth-provoking to 
a fellow conspirator, though they passed muster 
well enough with strangers. At the end of ten 
minutes the two girls were hurrying back, each 
armed with a large parcel. These were handed at 
once to scouts when they reached the Grange, and 
their costumes were removed in the barn, and re- 
placed without delay on their hooks in the kitchen 
passage by Valentine and Ardiune. 

So far so good. The commissariat department 
had managed to run the blockade of school regula- 
tions, and secure provisions for the entertainment. 
No Tommies looting supplies from the enemy’s 
trenches could have felt prouder. 


IOO 


The Madcap of the School 

When the eventful Thursday arrived, great 
anxiety was felt as to whether the Principal and 
her assistant were really and actually going out or 
not. They did not announce their intention, and 
gave no hint of the matter. Little Nancie Page, 
however, sent to Miss Gibbs’s room with a message, 
reported having seen that lady engaged in packing 
her suit-case, which was taken as proof conclusive 
of the contemplated expedition. 

“We’ll be subdued saints all supper-time!” sug- 
gested Raymonde. “ Let’s talk intelligently to the 
monitresses about intellectual subjects — the deeper 
the better. Make them think we’re going to bed 
with our minds fixed on Egyptology, and the 
wonders of the microscope, and the Bagdad railway, 
and the future of European politics. Be sure you 
go upstairs very quietly. Anyone who laughs will 
give the show away.” 

The behaviour of the school that evening was a 
subject of satisfaction to Veronica and her fellow 
monitresses. 

“I was afraid,” remarked the head girl, “that 
they might take advantage when they saw Miss 
Beasley’s and Miss Gibbs’s places empty at supper, 
but they seemed to feel on their honour to be 
steadier than usual. I really think their tone is 
improving. Raymonde Armitage was particularly 
quiet.” 

“Yes,” returned Daphne dubiously. “So she 
was; but if Raymonde has a quiet fit like that on, 
I generally look out for squalls afterwards.” 

When Mademoiselle went the round of the dormi- 
tory that night at 9.30, she found absolute peace 
and tranquillity reigning. Apparently the occu- 


The Beano 


IOl 


pants of the nineteen beds were already wrapt in 
well-earned repose. One or two were even snoring 
slightly. Mademoiselle heaved a sigh of relief, and 
went off thankfully to her own bedroom to write 
letters. She did not consider it necessary to in- 
terrupt herself at this occupation. Miss Gibbs had 
indeed urged the expediency of a surprise visit at 
about io p.m., but Mademoiselle had no vocation 
for enforcing discipline, and was not over-burdened 
with conscientious scruples. Moreover, she con- 
sidered that, if her Principal took an evening off, 
she might be licensed to do the same. 

The conspirators had decided not to begin the 
celebrations too early. With heroic self-restraint 
they remained quietly in bed until 10.30. By that 
hour monitresses and servants alike would probably 
be asleep. Mademoiselle, at the far end of the 
house, on the other side of the big staircase, would 
hear nothing. 

When the charmed moment arrived, everybody 
sprang up and lighted candles. Raymonde hurried 
into pink dressing-gown and bedroom slippers, and 
crept up the passage to the door which led to the 
monitresses’ rooms. She had inserted her screws 
earlier in the evening, so with the aid of a pair of 
pliers, purloined from the wood-carving bench, it 
did not take her long to fix her wire and secure the 
door. She came back chuckling. 

“ If they should hear any slight sounds of revelry, 
and try to come upon the scenes, they’ll just find 
themselves jolly well locked in!” she remarked with 
gusto. 

“ Perhaps they’ll think Mademoiselle’s done it!” 
suggested Ardiune. 


102 


The Madcap of the School 

Preparations for the feast were proceeding briskly. 
Two beds, pulled into the middle of the room, formed 
the table, and on these the comestibles were spread 
forth. The village shops had not offered a very 
wide range of dainties, but there were sardines, and 
canned peaches, and biscuits, and three Huntley & 
Palmer’s cakes, rather dry, because they had been 
kept in a tin box, probably since last Christmas. 
The drinkable was lemon kali, served in bedroom 
tumblers, and stirred up with lead-pencils or tooth- 
brush handles. 

Everybody was busy. Morvyth and Valentine 
were opening the tins with wood-carving imple- 
ments; Ardiune was performing an abstruse arith- 
metical calculation as to how to cut up three cakes 
into nineteen exactly even portions, while Katherine 
waited with the penknife ready. Even the hitherto 
irreproachable Maudie Heywood and Cynthia 
Greene were occupied with scissors, making plates 
out of sheets of exercise paper. Beds drawn up 
alongside the impromptu table served for seats, and 
the girls crowded together as closely as they could. 
Raymonde and Morvyth, by virtue of their expe- 
dition to the shops, were voted mistresses of the 
ceremonies, and dispensed the provisions. Sar- 
dines on biscuits were the first course, followed by 
canned peaches, the juiciness of which was a de- 
cided difficulty, as there was not a solitary spoon 
with which to fish them up from the tin. 

“Never mind, I’ll spear them with a lead-pencil 
and stick them on biscuits, and you must drink the 
syrup in the glasses. I dare say it’ll mix all right 
with lemon kali,” purred Raymonde, thoroughly in 
her element as hostess. 


The Beano 


103 


The fun waxed furious, and it only increased 
when the sardine tin upset in the middle of one of 
the temporary tables. 

“ But it’s my bed!” wailed Cynthia Greene. 

“ Cheer up! Someone’s got to make a sacrifice 
for the good of the assembly, and you see the 
lot’s fallen on you,” said Raymonde consolingly. 
“You ought to be proud to have your bed 
chosen ! ” 

“I’d just as soon it had been yours!” grumbled 
Cynthia. “ I shan’t like sleeping in a puddle of 
oil!” 

“ If you grouse any more, I’ll empty the can of 
peaches on your pillow, so shut up!” commanded 
the mistress of the ceremonies. “A beano’s a 
beano, and we’re going to enjoy ourselves.” 

“ If we make too much noise, though ” sug- 

gested Maudie Heywood. 

Ardiune snapped her up promptly. 

“We’ll make what noise we like! What does 
it matter? The monitresses are locked out, and 
Mademoiselle will never hear. We’ve got the 
place to ourselves to-night, thank goodness! Just 
for once, Mother Soup’s room down there is 
vacant!” 

“Empty is the cradle, baby’s gone!” mocked 
Morvyth. 

“’Xpect she’s having the time of her life at the 
dinner-party.” 

“Well, we’ll have ours!” 

A quarter of an hour later the dormitory pre- 
sented a convivial scene. An orchestra of five, 
seated on a hastily cleared dressing-table, were 
performing music with combs, while the rest of the 


104 The Madcap of the School 

company waltzed between the beds, with intervals 
of the fox-trot. Maudie Heywood and Cynthia 
Greene had accepted the inevitable, and joined the 
multitude. Apparently they were enjoying them- 
selves. Maudie’s cheeks were scarlet, and Cynthia’s 
long fair hair floated out picturesquely as she 
twirled round in Elsie Moseley’s arms. 

“ We’re certainly making the most of our bub- 
bling girlhood!” murmured Raymonde with satis- 
faction. “The Bumble couldn’t call us little 
premature women to-night!” 

The dark anti-zepp curtains swayed in the 
night breeze, and the candles flared and guttered, 
the musicians tootled at their tissue-paper covered 
combs with tingling lips, faster and faster whirled 
the dancers, the fun was at its zenith, when quite 
suddenly the unexpected happened. The door of 
Miss Gibbs’s room opened, and that grim lady 
herself stood on the threshold. 

If a spectre had made its appearance in their 
midst, the girls could not have been more discon- 
certed. A horrible hush spread over the room, and 
for a moment everybody stared in frozen horror. 
The musicians slipped down from the dressing- 
table and scuttled towards their own beds. 

“H’m! So this is how you are to be trusted!” 
remarked Miss Gibbs tartly, advancing towards the 
scene of the beano, and hastily casting an eye over 
the empty tins and crumby remains of the repast. 
“ Move this rubbish away, and push those beds 
back to their places. Now get into bed, every 
one of you! Not a single sound more is to be 
heard to-night. We’ll settle up this matter to- 
morrow.” 


The Beano 


105 


Having seen each occupant of the dormitory 
ensconced between her sheets (Cynthia did not dare 
to complain that hers were sardiny!) Miss Gibbs 
went back to her own room, leaving the door wide 
open. With an enraged dragon in such close 
vicinity the girls did not venture to stir, and silence 
reigned for the rest of the night. At the first 
coming of the dawn, however, Raymonde rose 
with infinite precaution, and stole barefoot along 
the passage to remove her wire and screws from 
the oak door. She accomplished that task without 
discovery, and, after hiding the screw-driver behind 
a wardrobe, crept back to bed. 

Nineteen subdued penitents, clothed in mental 
sackcloth and ashes, went down to breakfast next 
morning. Their fears were not without foundation, 
for when Miss Beasley returned at ten o’clock they 
were summoned to the most unpleasant interview 
they ever remembered, from which the more soft- 
hearted of them emerged sobbing. They spent 
Saturday afternoon in the school -room writing 
punishment tasks, while the monitresses went boat- 
ing on the river. It was trying to see Daphne and 
Hermie coming downstairs in their nice white 
dresses and blue ties, and to know that they them- 
selves were debarred the excursion. They hung 
about the hall sulkily. 

“ It’s your own faults,” moralized Veronica. 
“After that disgraceful business on Thursday, you 
couldn’t expect anything else. We heard you 
plainly enough, and we were utterly disgusted. 
I’d like to know who locked that passage door. I 
have my suspicions,” with an eye on Raymonde. 

The babyish innocence of Raymonde’s face at 


106 The Madcap of the School 

that moment might have served an artist as a model 
for a child angel. 

“ Have you? It’s a pity to harbour suspicion!” 
she returned sweetly. “We ought to learn to trust 
our schoolfellows! I loathe Veronica,” she added 
in a whisper to Ardiune, as the monitress tripped 
cheerily to the door. 


CHAPTER IX 

A Week on the Land 


The vacations at the Grange were arranged in 
rather an unusual fashion, a full week’s holiday 
being given at Whitsuntide instead of the ordinary 
little break at half-term. This year Miss Gibbs, 
who was nothing if not patriotic, evolved a plan 
for the benefit of her country. She saw an adver- 
tisement in the local newspaper, stating that volun- 
teers would soon be urgently needed to gather the 
strawberry crop upon a farm about fifteen miles 
away, and begging ladies of education to lend their 
services. Such a splendid opportunity of war work 
appealed to her. She wrote at once for particulars, 
and after some correspondence and a visit to the 
scene of action, announced her scheme to the school. 
She proposed that any girls who cared to devote 
their holidays to a useful end should join a camp 
of strawberry-pickers who were to be employed on 
the farm. 

“ It is being arranged by a Government bureau,” 
she explained, “and many people will be coming 
who, like ourselves, want to help to bear their 
country’s burdens — university students, journalists, 
social workers, hospital nurses, matrons of insti- 
tutions, and mistresses and scholars from other 

107 


io8 The Madcap of the School 

schools. We shall sleep in tents, and lead an 
absolutely outdoor life. It will be a healthy way 
of passing- a week, as well as a benefit to the nation. 
Any girl who would like to do her share may give 
me her name this afternoon, and Miss Beasley 
will write to her parents for permission for her to 
join the camp.” 

Outside in the quadrangle the school talked over 
the proposition at its leisure. 

“Will they let us eat the strawberries?” asked 
Fauvette anxiously. 

“Certainly, you little glutton!” snapped Veronica. 
“You’ll be allowed to stuff till you loathe the very 
thought of swallowing a strawberry. But you’ll 
have to pick hard and do your share, or they’ll 
turn you off!” 

The monitresses were fired with the idea, and 
all, except Linda, had decided to “do their bit”. 
Their enthusiasm spread downward like a wave. 
Before the day was over, eighteen girls had given 
in their names as volunteers, Raymonde, Morvyth, 
Katherine, and Aveline being among the number. 

“I would like to have joined you, really!” pro- 
tested Fauvette, “only I know I’ll be so dreadfully 
home-sick all the rest of the term if I don’t go home, 
and ” 

“Don’t apologize, child!” interrupted Raymonde. 
“ Nobody in their senses expects you to go. You’d 
be a huge embarrassment to the rest of us. Blue- 
eyed darlings, all baby-ribbon and fluffy hair, aren’t 
meant for hard work. Why, you’d pick about six 
strawberries in an hour, and eat three-quarters of 
them! Go home and be petted, by all means! We 
don’t want you weeping yourself to sleep at night, 


A Week on the Land 


109 

it disturbs the dormitory. The country’ll survive 
without your services!” 

Raymonde’s harum-scarum mind was for once 
really filled with a wish to help. She meant to do 
her full share of work. Also she was determined 
to enjoy herself. The prospect of camp-life was 
alluring. There was a gipsy smack about it that 
satisfied her unconventional instincts. It seemed 
almost next door to campaigning. 

“ If I’d only been a boy, I’d have run away to 
the front long ago!” she announced. 

“ Girls have their own chances in life as well 
as boys now,” said Hermie. ‘‘Wait till you’ve 
finished with school, then you must try to find your 
niche in the world. There’s plenty of pioneer work 
for women to do yet. They haven’t half exploited 
the colonies. Once we show we’re some good on 
the land, why shouldn’t the Government start us in 
co-operative farms out in New Zealand or Australia? 
It ought to be done systematically. Everything’s 
been so haphazard before. Imagine a farm all run 
by girls educated at our best secondary and public 
schools! It would be ideal. I’m yearning to try it.” 

Hermie’s aspirations towards field labour and a 
colonial future had been greatly spurred on lately 
by the advent of some lady labourers on a farm 
near the Grange. For the last fortnight the milk 
had been delivered, not by the usual uncouth boy, 
but by a charming member of the feminine sex, 
attired in short smock, knickers and gaiters, and 
a picturesque rush hat. Hermie had entered into 
conversation with her, and learned that she was a 
clergyman’s daughter, that she milked six cows 
morning and evening, and went round with the 


IIO 


The Madcap of the School 

cart delivering the milk, and that she was further 
concerned with the care of poultry, pigs, and calves. 
The glamour of her experiences made Hermie wish 
that the Grange were full of pigs instead of pupils. 

* ‘ I’d rather attend to a dozen nice little black 
Berkshires than act monitress to those juniors!’* 
she sighed. “ There would really be more satis- 
faction in it. And as for Raymonde Armitage and 
her set — give me young calves any day!” 

Miss Gibbs was extremely busy making prepara- 
tions for the expedition. The farmer undertook to 
provide tents for the party, and bags of hay to sleep 
upon, but each member must bring her own pillow, 
blankets, mug, knife, fork, spoon and plate, as well 
as her personal belongings. These latter were 
whittled down to the smallest capacity, for there 
would be little room to stow them away in the 
tents. Stout boots, waterproofs, and hockey caps 
were taken, in case the weather might change, the 
girls wearing their usual Panama school hats on 
fine days. In order to prevent difficulty with the 
ordinary strawberry-pickers, they were to be paid 
for their work according to the amount accom- 
plished, and were each to contribute ten shillings 
towards the canteen, the tents being provided free. 

“ But suppose we don’t each earn ten shillings?” 
asked Daphne the cautious. 

“ Whoever doesn’t will have to make up the 
balance from her own pocket,” said Miss Gibbs. 
“ If the ordinary pickers can pay their way, I 
suppose we can do the same, but it will mean 
sticking at it hard, and no shirking. We must 
show what we’re made of!” 

On the Friday before Whitsun week an excited 


A Week on the Land 


ii 


little party of eighteen stood with bags and bundles 
ready to start, Miss Gibbs bustling round them like 
a fussy hen with a large brood of chicks, giving 
ever so many last directions and injunctions, which 
seemed rather superfluous as she was going with 
them, and would have them under her charge the 
whole time. They went by rail to Ledcombe, the 
nearest station to Shipley, where the strawberry 
gardens were situated. The scene on the platform 
when they arrived was certainly new and out of the 
common. A train had just come in from London, 
bringing pickers from the slums. It was labelled 
“ Strawberry Gatherers Only”, and its cargo was 
lively, not to say noisy. There were elderly men, 
younger ones unfit for military service, women 
with bawling babies, girls shouting popular songs, 
and a swarm of turbulent children. Whole families 
had apparently set forth to spend a few weeks help- 
ing at the fruit harvest, combining a holiday in the 
country with profit to their pockets. 

“We’re not going among that crew, I hope?” 
said Daphne, staring rather aghast at the unkempt 
crowd. 

“ Certainly not; we shall have our own quarters,” 
returned Miss Gibbs, marshalling her flock to the 
gate of exit. Drawn up outside the station were 
six large hay wagons, and on one of these hung a 
placard: “Marlowe Grange”. Miss Gibbs made 
for it immediately, turning out some struggling 
slum children who had already climbed in and 
taken temporary possession, and stowed the bag- 
gage inside. 

“There’s plenty of room for us all,” she an- 
nounced, “ but you’ll each have to sit on your own 


1 12 The Madcap oi the School 

bundle. I’m glad I stipulated that they should 
reserve us a wagon for ourselves.” 

Judging by the rabble who were swarming on to 
the other hay carts, the girls also considered it a 
cause for rejoicing. Their own vehicle started first, 
and began to jolt slowly down the country road, its 
occupants sitting as steadily as they could on their 
knobbly luggage, and indulging in decidedly femi- 
nine squeals when, as often happened, an extra 
hard jog threw them together. After four miles of 
this rather exciting journey they reached the farm. 
Their driver stopped at a gate, and, pointing across 
a field to some tents, indicated that this was their 
destination. He could take them no nearer, and 
they must convey their own bags and bundles over 
the pasture. 

Hauling their own luggage with them was no 
light task, and they were heartily tired of their 
burdens before they reached the tents. Three of 
these, labelled Marlowe Grange, they appropriated ; 
then Miss Gibbs, after a brief confabulation with the 
canteen matron, beckoned to her flock. 

“ I hear we must go at once and secure first pick 
of the hay sacks,” she said. ‘ ‘Come along, all of 
you!” 

Over three more fields and two stiles they came 
to the farm buildings, where, spread out on hurdles, 
were a number of large sacks, mercifully clean. 
An individual in charge, wearing a faded blue suit 
and a two days’ growth of stubbly beard, told them 
briefly to help themselves, and then take their sacks 
to the barn and fill them with hay. Preparing 
their own mattresses was a new experience, but an 
amusing one. It was fun stuffing the sweet-smell- 


A Week on the Land 


”3 

ing hay into the rough canvas bags, and more fun 
still carrying the bulky bedding back over fields 
and stiles to the tents. Here, amid a chaos of un- 
packing, they at last disposed their belongings to 
their satisfaction. 

Their special little colony consisted of nine tents 
and a marquee for meals. It was in charge of a 
matron, who directed the canteen, and was re- 
sponsible for the comfort and order of the camp. 
In each tent hung a list of rules respecting hours 
of rising and going to bed, meals, and general 
conduct. As there was no servant except the cook, 
the task of washing up must be shared by all in 
rotation, the matron having authority to apportion 
the work. No lights or talking were to be allowed 
after 10.30 p.m. 

By the time the girls had settled all their pos- 
sessions it was seven o’clock, and the rest of the 
camp returned from the strawberry fields. Supper 
was served in the marquee, everybody sitting on 
benches round wooden tables without cloths. The 
company proved pleasant and congenial; there 
were fifty in all, including some students from 
Ludminster University, and eight girls and two 
teachers from a secondary school at Tadbury. The 
slum party, it seemed, were lodged in the big barns 
behind the farm, while some caravans of gipsy 
pickers had possession of a corner of a field some 
distance away. 

Supper finished, most of the workers sat about 
and rested. A few, possessed of superfluous energy, 
took a walk to the village a mile off, but the 
generality were very tired. A gramophone in the 
marquee blared away at popular songs, and the 

( 0 887 ) 8 


1 14 The Madcap of the School 

more lively spirits joined in the choruses; one or 
two even attempted to dance on the grass. Miss 
Gibbs had already struck up a friendship with a 
lady journalist, and some of the girls began to 
make overtures to the Tadbury scholars, who 
looked rather a jolly little set. Everybody retired 
early, as they would have to be up at 5.30, and in 
the fields by seven. 

The Marlowe Grange contingent were much 
exercised as to the best way to place their mat- 
tresses. They did not know whether to sleep with 
their heads or their feet to the tent-pole, and finally 
decided in favour of the former. Going to bed was 
a funny business in so very small a space, with no 
chairs or places to put clothes down, and only one 
tin basin amongst six to wash in. It was funnier 
still when they attempted to lie down on their mat- 
tresses. A bag stuffed with hay is so round that it 
is very difficult to keep upon it without rolling off, 
and there was much pommelling and flattening 
before the beds were at all tenable. At last every- 
one was settled, the lights were out, and the 
campers, rolled in their blankets, tried to compose 
themselves to sleep. 

Raymonde, whose billet was opposite the door 
of the tent, could see out, and watch the stars shin- 
ing. She lay awake a long time, with her eyes 
fixed on a bright planet that moved across the 
little horizon of sky visible to her, till it passed out 
of sight, and at length she too slept. 


CHAPTER X 


The Campers 

Life began at the camp soon after 5 a.m., when 
the more energetic spirits tumbled off their hay 
sacks, flung on dressing-gowns, and scrambled for 
turns at the bath tent. Fetching water for the day 
was the first business of the morning, and those on 
bucket duty trotted off to the stream, two fields 
away, joking and making fun as they went, but 
returning more soberly with the heavy pails. The 
6.15 breakfast tasted delicious after their early 
outing, and most of the workers seemed in good 
spirits. By seven o’clock the whole party were 
down in the gardens. The Marlowe Grange girls 
had never seen strawberries by the acre before, and 
they were amazed, almost daunted, at the sight 
of the vast quantity of fruit that must be gathered. 
They were told off to a certain portion of the field, 
given baskets, and shown where to bring them 
when full. Each novice, for the first day, was 
expected to work near an experienced hand, who 
could show her what was required, as the picking, 
though quick, must be careful, so as not to bruise 
the strawberries. Raymonde and Morvyth found 
themselves under the wing of a Social Settlement 
secretary, a business-like dame who had picked 
116 


n6 The Madcap of the School 

the previous summer, and understood the swiftest 
methods. Close by, they could hear Miss Gibbs 
being instructed by the lady journalist, with whom 
she had apparently cemented a friendship. 

It was a point of honour to fill the baskets with 
the utmost possible speed, and everybody worked 
steadily. There was no rule against eating the 
fruit, but the pay was according to the number of 
baskets handed in, so that shirkers would find them- 
selves unable to earn their keep. It was a rather 
back-breaking employment, but otherwise pleasant, 
for the day was fine, the larks were singing, and 
wild roses and honeysuckle bloomed in the hedge- 
rows. The slum pickers at the other side of the 
field toiled away with practised fingers. Many of 
them came every year, and would return in Septem- 
ber for the hop harvest. The small children played 
under the hedge and took charge of the babies, 
who cried and slept alternately, poor little souls! 
without receiving much attention from the hard- 
working mothers. 

The slum contingent was a subject of much 
amusement and curiosity to the Marlowe Grange 
platoon. Though they occupied different portions 
of the field, they would meet when they went to 
deliver baskets. The rollicking good nature and 
repartees of some of these people, especially of the 
gipsies, were often very funny. They would chaff 
the agent who registered their scores, with a con- 
siderable power of humour, and the Grange girls, 
waiting in line for their turns, would chuckle as 
they overheard the conversations. 

At eleven everybody ate lunch which they had 
brought with them, then worked till one, when they 


The Campers 117 

returned to the camp for dinner. Picking went on 
again from two till six, with an interval at four 
o’clock for tea, which was brought down to the 
gardens in large cans, and poured into the workers’ 
own mugs. It was almost the most acceptable meal 
of the day, taken sitting under the hedge, with the 
scent of roses in the air, and the summer sunshine 
falling across the fields. 

By the end of the first evening, the Grange girls 
decided that, though they wished they had cast- 
iron backs, the experience on the whole was great 
fun. They liked the camp life, and even their hay- 
sack beds. 

“ I vote we don’t sleep with our heads to the tent- 
pole to-night, though,” said Raymonde. 4 ‘You 
flung out your arms, Morvyth, and gave me such 
a whack across the face! I wonder I haven’t a 
black eve. Let’s turn the other way, with our feet 
to the pole.” 

“Right you are! I’m so sleepy, I don’t mind 
which end up I am, if I can only shut my eyes!” 
conceded Katherine, yawning lustily. 

“ I shan’t need rocking, either,” agreed Morvyth. 

Perched on her hay-bag, Raymonde was very 
soon in the land of Nod. She was dreaming a con- 
fused jumble about Miss Gibbs and gipsies and 
strawberries, when she suddenly awoke with a 
strong impression that someone was pulling her 
hair. She sat up, feeling rather scared. The tent 
was perfectly quiet. The other girls lay asleep, 
each on her own sack with her feet to the central 
pole. 

“I must have dreamt it!” thought Raymonde, 
settling down again. 


ii8 The Madcap of the School 

She had scarcely closed her eyes, however, before 
she heard a curious noise in the vicinity of her 
ear, and something unmistakably gave her plait a 
violent wrench. She started up with a yell, in time 
to see an enormous head withdraw itself from the 
tent door. A clatter of hoofs followed. 

‘‘What’s the matter?” cried the girls, waking 
at the disturbance; and “What is it?” exclaimed 
Miss Gibbs, aroused also, and hurrying in from the 
next-door tent. But Raymonde was laughing. 

“ I’ve had the fright of my life!” she announced. 
“ I thought a bogy or a kelpie was devouring me, 
but it was only Dandy, the old pony. He stuck 
his head round the tent door, and mistook my hair 
for a mouthful of grass, the wretch!” 

“ I’ve seen him feeding near the tents before,” 
said Valentine. “There’s some particular sort of 
grass here that he specially likes. It’s rather the 
limit, though, to have him coming inside!” 

“ He oughtn’t to be allowed in this field at 
night,” declared Miss Gibbs. “ I shall speak to 
Mr. Cox, and ask to have him put in another 
pasture. We can’t close our tent doors, or we 
should be suffocated. I hope we shan’t have any 
other nocturnal visitors! It’s a good thing we 
have no valuables with us. I don’t trust those 
gipsies.” 

Miss Gibbs’s fears turned out to be only too well 
founded, for, on the morning but one following, 
there was a hue and cry in the camp. The larder 
had been raided during the night, and all the pro- 
visions stolen. The canteen matron and the cook 
were in despair, as nothing was left for breakfast, 
and the workers would have gone hungry, had not 


The Campers 119 

a deputation of them visited the farm, and begged 
sufficient bread and jam to provide a meal. 

“A lovely ham gone, and four pounds of butter, 
and a joint of cold beef, and all the bread !” 
mourned the distracted matron. “ I shall have 
to go in to Ledcombe again this morning for fresh 
supplies, and I believe Mr. Cox wants the pony 
himself.” 

“We ought to be able to track the thieves,” said 
Miss Gibbs firmly. “There should be an inspec- 
tion at lunch-time, and anyone seen eating ham 
should be under suspicion.” 

“They’d be far too clever to eat it publicly,” 
objected Miss Hoyle, the lady journalist. “Gip- 
sies are an uncommonly tricky set. They probably 
had a midnight feast, and finished the last crumb 
of our provisions before daybreak. We shall get 
no satisfaction from Mr. Cox. He’ll say he’s not 
responsible.” 

“Then we must take precautions that it doesn’t 
happen again,” decreed Miss Gibbs. “Isn’t it 
possible to procure a lock-up meat safe? I never 
heard of a camp being without one.” 

“ Perhaps you haven’t had much experience,” 
remarked the canteen matron icily. She thought 
Miss Gibbs “bossy” and interfering, and con- 
sidered that she knew her own business best, with- 
out suggestions from outsiders. 

The Grange girls chuckled inwardly to hear 
their teacher thus snubbed. They hoped a retort 
and even a wrangle might follow; but Miss Gibbs 
had too much common sense, and, restraining her- 
self, stalked away with as unconcerned an aspect as 
possible. 


120 


The Madcap of the School 

44 Look here, old sport!” whispered Raymonde 
to Morvyth, 4 4 somebody ought to take this matter 
up. I consider it’s a job for us. Let’s watch to- 
night, and see if we can’t catch the prowling sneaks. 
Are you game?” 

44 Rather! It’s a blossomy idea, only don’t let 
Gibbie get wind of it.” 

44 Do I ever go and tell Gibbie my jinky little 
plans? It’s not this child’s usual way of proceed- 
ing.” 

Raymonde and Morvyth had intended to run 
this little expedition 44 on their own”, but in the 
end they were obliged to let the rest of the tent into 
the secret, as it was impossible to go to bed fully 
dressed without exciting comment. Their comrades 
refused to be left out, so it was decided that all six, 
under Raymonde’s leadership, should mount guard 
over the larder. They drew their blankets up to 
their noses, and pretended to be very sleepy when 
Miss Gibbs came to take a last look at them before 
retiring. Apparently she noticed nothing unusual, 
for she only glanced quickly round, and went softly 
away. The self-constituted sentries allowed nearly 
an hour to pass before they dared to venture forth. 
Until that time the camp was not really quiet. 
The university students were a lively set, apt to 
keep up their fun late, and the secondary school 
girls often talked persistently, to the annoyance of 
their neighbours. At last, however, all lights were 
out, and a profound silence reigned. Not even 
an owl hooted to-night, and, as Dandy had been 
banished from the field, even his crunching of 
the grass was absent. Raymonde crept from her 
blankets and listened. Her companions, to judge 


121 


The Campers 

from their breathing, were sound asleep. She felt 
much tempted to awaken only Morvyth, but she 
knew that if she omitted to call the others, their 
reproaches next morning would be too unbear- 
able. So she roused the five. Taking torchlights, 
ready but not switched on, they stole from the tent 
towards the scene of action. 

The larder was only a portion of the marquee 
curtained off, so it was really an easy prey for 
marauders. The girls could not quite decide where 
would be their best post for sentry duty; whether 
to dispose themselves in positions outside, or to 
keep guard within the tent. As it was rather a 
cold night, they plumped for the latter. Cautiously 
as Indians on the war trail, they crept across the 
marquee towards the farther corner where the stores 
were kept. Raymonde, as leader, went first, with 
her body-guard in close attendance behind her. 
Very, very gently she drew back the curtains and 
entered the larder. It was pitch-dark in here, and 
she began to grope her way along the wall. Then 
she stopped, for in front of her she fancied she 
heard breathing. She listened — all was silent. 
She started again, intending to go to the far side 
of the table. She put out her hand to guide her- 
self, and came in contact with something warm and 
soft, like human flesh. In spite of herself she could 
not suppress an exclamation. It was too horrible, 
actually to touch a burglar! She had not bargained 
to find one already in possession of the larder. 
Instantly the girls behind her flashed on their torch- 
lights, and the little sentry party found themselves 
confronted with — Miss Gibbs! 

Yes, it was Miss Gibbs, crouching down near 


122 


The Madcap of the School 

the table with Miss Hoyle, the lady journalist, 
close to her, both looking very determined, and 
ready to tackle any number of gipsy thieves. The 
astonishment was mutual. 

“What are you doing here, girls?” asked Miss 
Gibbs sharply, the schoolmistress in her rising to 
the surface. 

“ Only trying to guard the larder!” faltered Ray- 
monde. 

“ That’s just what we’re doing,” explained Miss 
Hoyle. 

At that moment the matron put in an appearance. 
She also had been on the qui vive in defence of her 
stores, and hearing voices, was sure she had trapped 
the thieves. She had already passed on the alarm, 
and in a few moments, acting on a preconcerted 
signal, Mr. Cox and several of the farm hands 
burst upon the scene, ready to knock down and 
secure intruders. Explanations naturally followed. 
It seemed that nearly everyone in the camp had 
private and separately arranged watch parties, each 
unconscious of the others’ vigilance, and that all 
had mistaken their neighbours for burglars. No 
one quite knew at first whether to be annoyed or 
amused, but in the end humour won, and a general 
laugh ensued. As nobody felt disposed to spend 
the whole night on sentry duty, the matter was 
settled by Miss Corley and Miss Hoyle proposing 
to bring their beds and sleep in the marquee for the 
future. 

“ I wake easily, so I should hear the very faintest 
footstep, I’m sure,” said Miss Hoyle. “ I’m going 
to keep a revolver under my pillow, too, and I hope 
you’ll spread that information all over the gardens, 


123 


The Campers 

and add that I’m accustomed to use it, and would 
as soon shoot a man as look at him.” 

Whether through fear of Miss Hoyle’s blood- 
thirsty intentions, or with a shrewd suspicion that 
Mr. Cox was on the watch, the marauders did not 
repeat their midnight visit, and left the camp in 
peace. Miss Hoyle seemed almost disappointed. 
Being a journalist, she had perhaps hoped to make 
copy of the adventure, and write a sparkling column 
for her newspaper. The Grange girls decided that 
it was not the revolver, but the dread of Miss Gibbs 
which had scared away the gipsies. 

“They’ve seen her in the fields, you know, and 
I should think one look would be enough,” said 
Morvyth. “ She has a i Come here, my good man, 
and let me argue the matter out with you’ expression 
on her face this last day or two that should daunt 
the most foolhardy. If she caught a burglar she’d 
certainly sit him down and rub social reform and 
political economy into him before she let him go!” 


CHAPTER XI 

Canteen Assistants 


The many acres of strawberry gardens were situ- 
ated some little distance from the camp, so that the 
walk backwards and forwards occupied about a 
quarter of an hour each way. Once work was 
begun, nobody returned to the tents except on some 
very urgent errand, as the loss of time involved 
would be great. A really valid excuse occurred 
one morning, however. Aveline missed her watch, 
and remembered that she had laid it on the break- 
fast table in the marquee. It seemed very unsafe 
to leave it there, so she reported the matter to Miss 
Gibbs, who told her to go at once and fetch it, and 
sent Raymonde with her, not liking her to have 
the walk alone. The two girls were rather glad of 
the excuse. They were not shirkers, but the pick- 
ing made their backs tired, and the run through 
the fields was a welcome change. They found the 
watch still lying on the table in the marquee, and 
Aveline clasped it round her wrist. 

They were leaving the tent when Miss Jones, the 
canteen matron, bustled in, looking so worried that 
they ventured to ask: “ What’s the matter?” 

She stopped, as if it were a relief to explode. 

“Matter, indeed! You’ll have no potatoes or 
vegetables for your dinner, that’s all, and nothing 

124 


Canteen Assistants 


«25 


at all for your supper 1 Mrs. Harper hasn’t turned 
up, and I can’t leave the place with nobody about. 

I meant to go to Ledcombe this morning for fresh 
supplies, and it’s early-closing day, too, the shops 
will shut at one. Oh, dear! I can’t think what’s 
to be done! These village helps are more trouble 
than they’re worth.” 

Mrs. Harper, the cook, had failed the camp 
before, taking an occasional day off, without any 
previous notice, to attend to her domestic affairs 
at home. Miss Jones knew from former experience 
that she would either stroll in casually about mid- 
day, or more probably would not come at all until 
to-morrow. In the meantime fifty people required 
meals, and the situation was urgent. 

“ Couldn’t we go to Ledcombe for you?” sug- 
gested Raymonde. 

The matron’s face cleared; she jumped at the 
proposition. 

‘ ‘ Geordie’s somewhere about the buildings. He’d 
harness the pony for you, if you can manage to 
drive. I’ll give you a list of what’s needed. The 
meat’s come, and I can put that on to stew, and get 
the puddings ready, and if you’ll be back by eleven 
there’ll be time to wash the potatoes. It’s only 
half-past eight now. I’ll write down all I want 
done.” 

It was impossible to go back to the gardens and 
ask permission from Miss Gibbs. The girls con- 
sidered that the matron’s authority was sufficient 
to justify the expedition, which was certainly for 
the benefit of the camp. Neither of them had ever 
handled the reins in her life before, so the drive 
would be a decided adventure. 


126 The Madcap of the School 

Armed with a long list of necessaries, two huge 
market baskets, and Miss Jones’s hand-bag con- 
taining a supply of money, they started off to the 
farm to find Geordie, a half-witted boy who did 
odd jobs about the fold-yard. After a considerable 
hunt through the barns they discovered him at last 
inside the pigsty, and bribed him with twopence to 
go and catch the pony. Dandy was enjoying him- 
self in the field, and did not come readily; indeed, 
the girls were almost despairing before he was 
finally led in by his forelock. The little convey- 
ance was a small, very old-fashioned gig, and 
though in its far-off youth it may have possessed 
a smart appearance, it was now decidedly more 
useful than ornamental. The varnish was worn 
and scratched, the cushions had been re-covered 
with cheap American cloth, the waterproof apron 
was threadbare, and one of the splash-boards was 
split. The harness also was of the most ancient 
description, and the rough pony badly needed 
clipping, so that the whole turn-out was deplorably 
shabby and second-rate. 

“ It’s hardly the kind of thing one would drive 
in round the Park!” laughed Aveline. 

“Scarcely! It’s the queerest little egg-box on 
two wheels I’ve ever seen. But what does it 
matter? Nobody knows us in Ledcombe. The 
main point is, will it get us over the ground?” 

“ I wish we’d bicycles instead!” 

“ But we couldn’t bring back a whole cargo of 
stores on them. I think it’s top-hole!” 

With much laughter and many little jokes the 
girls tucked themselves into their funny convey- 
ance, evidently greatly to the interest of Dandy, 


Canteen Assistants 


127 

who turned his head anxiously as they mounted 
the step. 

“ He do be a wise ’un!” explained Geordie. 
“You see, sometimes Mr. Rivers takes his father- 
in-law, as weighs seventeen stone, and, with a calf 
or maybe a young pig as well, it do make a big 
load. Dandy don’t be one to overwork hisself. 
I reckon you’ll have to use the whip to he!” 

Neither of the girls had even the most elementary 
experience of driving, but Raymonde, as the elder, 
and the one who in general possessed the greater 
amount of nerve, boldly seized the reins and armed 
herself with the whip. Geordie released Dandy’s 
head, and gave him a sounding smack as a delicate 
hint to depart, a proceeding which brought clouds 
of dust from his shaggy coat, and caused him to 
scramble suddenly forward, and plunge down the 
lane at quite an adventurous and stylish pace. 

“If he won’t go, just cuss at him!” yelled 
Geordie as a last piece of advice. 

Though Dandy might make a gallant beginning, 
he had no intention of breaking the record for speed, 
and at the end of a few hundred yards dropped into 
an ambling jog-trot, a form of locomotion which 
seemed to jolt the badly hung little gig to its 
uttermost. 

“It’s rather a painful form of exercise!” gasped 
Aveline, setting her feet firmly in an attempt to 
avoid the jarring. “ I believe something must be 
wrong with the springs. Can’t you make him go 
faster?” 

“Only if I beat him; and then suppose he runs 
away?” 

“Well, if he does, we’ll each cling on to one rein 


128 The Madcap of the School 

and pull. I suppose driving is pretty much like 
steering a bicycle. Is the rule of the road the 
same?” 

“ Of course. Don’t be silly!” 

“Well, I never can make out why it’s different 
for foot-passengers. Why should they go to the 
right, and vehicles to the left?” 

“You may be certain all motors will take the 
middle of the road, at any rate. We shall have 
to be prepared to make a dash for the hedge when 
we hear a ‘ too-hoo ’ round the corner. I’ve no 
mind to be run over and squashed out flat!” 

“Like the naughty children who teased Diogenes 
in an old picture-book I used to have. I always 
thought it was a lovely idea of his to start the tub 
rolling, and simply flatten them out like pancakes. 
I expect it’s a true incident, if we only knew. One 
of those things that are not historical, but so prob- 
able that you’re sure they must have happened. 
He’d reason it out by philosophy first, and feel it 
was a triumph of mind over matter. Perhaps his 
chuckles when he saw the result were the origin 
of the term ‘a cynical laugh’. The children in the 
picture looked so exactly like pieces of rolled pastry 
when the tub had done its work.” 

“ I don’t think the motors would have any more 
compunction than Diogenes, so the moral is — give 
them as wide a berth as possible. If we were driv- 
ing a big hay-cart, I’d enjoy blocking the way!” 

They had turned out of the lane, and were now 
on the high road to Ledcombe, but progressing at 
an extremely slow pace. Raymonde ventured to 
apply the whip, but on the pony’s thick coat it 
appeared to produce as slight an impression as the 


Canteen Assistants 


129 


tickling of a fly, and, when she endeavoured to give 
a more efficacious flick, she got the lash ignomini- 
ously entangled in the harness. There was nothing 
for it but to pull up, and for Aveline to climb 
laboriously from the trap, and release the much- 
knotted piece of string. Rendered more careful by 
this catastrophe, Raymonde wielded her whip with 
caution, and gave what encouragement she could 
by jerking the reins vigorously, and occasionally 
ejaculating an energetic “Go on, Dandy !” The 
pony, however, was a cunning little creature, and, 
knowing perfectly well that he was in amateui 
hands, took full advantage of the situation. Under 
the excuse of a very slight hill he reduced his pace 
to a crawl, and began to crop succulent mouthfuls 
of grass from the hedge-bank, as a means of com- 
bining pleasure with business. It was only by 
judicious proddings with the butt-end of the whip 
that he could be induced to hasten his steps. 

In spite of the difficulties with Dandy, the drive 
was enjoyable. The country was very pretty, for 
they were nearing the hills, and the landscape was 
more diversified than in the immediate neighbour- 
hood of the camp. They passed through a beech 
wood, where the sun was glinting through leaves 
as transparent and delicate as fairies’ wings. 

“ I feel like primeval man to-day,” said Aveline. 

‘The wander fever is on me, and I want to see 
fresh things.” 

“We shall be in Ledcombe soon.” 

“I don’t mean towns; it’s something much subtler 
— different fields, unexplored woods, a new piece of 
river, or even a patch of grass with flowers I haven’t 
found before.” 

( 0 887 ) 


9 


i3o The Madcap of the School 

“ I know,” agreed Raymonde. “ It’s the feeling 
one had when one was small, and read about how 
the youngest prince set out into the great wide 
world to seek his fortune. I always envied him.” 

“Or the knights-errant — they had a splendid 
time roaming through the forest, and tilting a spear 
against anyone who was ready for single combat. 
One might lead a very merry life yet, like Robin 
Hood and his band, in the ‘good greenwood’, 
though we shouldn’t be ‘hunting the King’s red 
deer’.” 

“ It was pretty much like camp life, I dare say, 
only a little rougher than ours. More like the 
gipsy diggings.” 

“Talking of gipsies, I believe you’ve conjured 
them up. That looks like a caravan over there. 
I expect it is some more of the tribe coming to pick 
strawberries.” 

The gipsies, collected in a group in the roadway, 
were loudly bewailing a catastrophe, for their horse 
had just fallen down dead. Until they could obtain 
another they must needs stay by the roadside, and 
could not get on to the gardens. 

“They’re a handsome set,” said Aveline, taking 
out her camera, which she had brought with her. 
“Just look at the children!” 

“It’s the mother that attracts me most,” said 
Raymonde. 

The woman, indeed, was a beautiful specimen of 
Romany blood, tall and dark, with great flashing 
eyes and coarse black hair. She resembled a man 
more than the gentler sex. She wore a very short 
red skirt, and had a little barrel hung over her 
shoulder by a strap. 


Canteen Assistants 


131 

“ I wish I’d brought my camera!” murmured 
Raymonde. “ I simply hadn’t room to stuff it in. 
It was a choice between it and my night-gear, and 
I thought Gibbie’d treat me to jaw-wag if I left 
out my pyjamas.” 

Aveline descended from the trap to take her 
photo, hoping to get a snapshot of the gipsies, just 
as they were, grouped in dramatic attitudes round 
the dead horse. At the sight of two well-dressed 
strangers, however, the tribal instincts asserted 
themselves, and the woman was pushed hurriedly 
forward by the rest. 

“Tell your fortune, my pretty lady!” she began 
to Aveline in a half-bold, half-wheedling voice. 
“Cross the poor gipsy’s hand with a shilling and 
she’ll read the stars for you!” 

“ No, thanks!” said Aveline, rather scared by the 
woman’s jaunty, impudent manner. “I only 
wanted to take a photo.” 

“ Cross the gipsy’s hand first, lady, before you 
take her photo. Don’t you want to know the 
future, lady? I can read something in your face 
that will surprise you. Just a shilling, lady — only 
a shilling!” 

The rest of the tribe were approaching the trap 
and begging from Raymonde, looking so rough and 
importunate that the girls began to be thoroughly 
alarmed, and afraid for the safety of the money they 
had brought with them. Aveline regretted her 
folly in having dismounted from the gig, and 
backed towards it again, pestered by the gipsy. 
She did not want a photo now, only to get away as 
swiftly as possible. But that the dark-eyed crew 
did not seem disposed to allow. A dusky hand was 


132 The Madcap of the School 

laid on the pony’s reins, and a voluble tongue 
poured forth a jumble of planets and predictions. 
The situation had grown extremely unpleasant for 
the girls, when fortunately a cart was seen coming 
in the distance. The gipsies melted away instantly, 
Aveline jumped into the trap, and Raymonde 
whipped up Dandy, who evidently resenting on his 
own account the tribe’s interference, set off at a 
swinging pace, and soon left the caravan behind. 
In another ten minutes they had reached the out- 
skirts of Ledcombe, and arrived at civilization. 

The little country town was one of those sleepy 
places where you could almost shoot a cannon down 
the High Street without injuring anybody. There 
were shops with antiquated -looking goods in the 
windows; a market hall, closed except on Tuesdays; 
a church with a picturesque tower, a bank, and a 
large number of public-houses. It seemed to the 
girls as if almost every other building displayed 
a green dragon, or a red lion, or a black boar, or 
some other sign to indicate that the excessive thirst 
of the inhabitants could be satisfied within. Ray- 
monde felt rather nervous at driving in the town, 
but fortunately, being a Thursday morning, there 
was little traffic in the streets. Had it been market 
day she might have got into difficulties. She sat 
outside in the gig while Aveline went into the shops 
and purchased the various commodities on Miss 
Jones’s list. These were so many, that by the time 
everything had been bought the gig was crammed 
to overflowing, leaving only just room for the two 
girls. Raymonde sat with her feet on a sack of 
potatoes, Aveline clutched the big baskets full of 
loaves and vegetables, while parcels were piled up 


Canteen Assistants 


>33 


on the floor and on the seat. Their business had 
taken them longer than they expected, and the 
church clock warned them that they must hurry if 
the potatoes were to be cooked in time for dinner. 
As soon as they were clear of the town, Raymonde 
attempted to communicate the urgency of the case 
to Dandy. Her efforts were in vain, however. That 
faithless quadruped utterly refused to proceed faster 
than an ambling jog-trot, and took no notice of 
whipping, prodding or poking, beyond flicking his 
ears as if he thought the flies were troublesome. 

“We shall never get back to the camp at this 
rate,” lamented Raymonde. “What are we to 
do?” 

“Geordie suggested ‘cuss words’,” grinned 
Aveline. “ I expect that’s what Dandy’s accus- 
tomed to from most of his drivers.” 

“Don’t suppose he’d be particular as to the 
exact words,” said Raymonde. “ Probably it’s the 
tone of voice that does it. Let’s wait till he gets to 
the top of this hill, then I’ll prod him again, and 
we’ll both growl out ‘Go on!’ and see if it has any 
effect.” 

“ If it hasn’t, I shall lead him and run by his 
head. It would be quicker than this pace.” 

“We’ll try shouting first. Here we are at the 
top of the hill. Now, both together, in the gruffest 
voice you can muster. Are you ready? One — two 
— three— Go on, Dandy!” 

Whether it was really the result of the deep bass 
tones, or Raymonde’s unexpected prod, or merely 
the fact that they had arrived at the summit of the 
slope, the girls could not determine, but the effect 
on the pony was instantaneous. He gathered all 


134 The Madcap of the School 

four legs together, and gave a sudden jump, appa- 
rently of apprehension, then set off down the hill 
as fast as he could tear. 

“ Hold him in!” yelled Aveline, alarmed at such 
an access of speed. 

“ I’m trying to!” replied Raymonde, pulling at 
the reins as hard as her arms would allow. 

Dandy, however, seemed determined for once to 
show his paces, and took no more notice of Ray- 
monde’s checking than he had previously done of 
her urgings. The little trap was flying like the 
wind, when without the least warning a most un- 
anticipated thing happened. The worn, crazy old 
straps of the harness broke, and the pony, giving 
a wrench that also snapped the reins, ran straight 
out of the shafts. The gig promptly fell forward, 
precipitating both girls, amid a shower of parcels, 
into the road, where they sat for a moment or two 
almost dazed with the shock, watching the retreat- 
ing heels of Dandy as he fled in terror of the 
dangling straps that were hitting him on the flanks. 

“Are you hurt?” asked Raymonde at last, getting 
up and tenderly feeling her scraped shins. 

“ No, only rather bruised — and astonished,” re- 
plied Aveline. 

Then the humour of the situation seemed to strike 
both, for they burst into peals of laughter. 

“What are we to do with the trap?” said Aveline. 
“We can’t drag it back ourselves. And what about 
the pony? He’s playing truant!” 

“And Mr. Rivers said he was so quiet and well- 
behaved that a baby in arms could drive him!” 
declared Raymonde, much aggrieved. 

“Well, they shouldn’t patch their harness with 


Canteen Assistants 


135 


bits of string!” said Aveline. “ It’s very unsafe. I 
noticed it before we started out, but I supposed it 
would be all right. Hallo! Here’s Dandy back! 
Somebody’s caught him!” 

It was the gipsy woman who made her appear- 
ance, leading the pony. She looked rather scared, 
and much relieved when she saw Raymonde and 
Aveline standing safe and sound in the middle of 
the road. 

“ I thought for sure someone was killed!” she 
remarked when she reached the scene of the acci- 
dent. Though the girls had been frightened of her 
before, they were glad to see her now, for they had 
no notion what to do next. She at once assumed 
command of the situation, sent one of the children, 
who had followed her, back to the caravan to fetch 
her husband, and with his assistance set to work 
and patched up the harness. 

“ We’re tinkers by trade, lady, so we know how 
to put in a rivet or two, enough to take you safely 
home, at any rate; but they don’t ought to send 
that harness out again, it’s as rotten as can be. 
Mr. Rivers’s, did you say? Why, it’s his farm as 
we’re going to, to pick strawberries, as soon as we 
can get there, with our horse lying dead!” 

A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind, and 
before the harness was mended the girls had struck 
up quite a friendship with the gipsies, which was 
further cemented by the transference of half a crown 
from Raymonde’s purse to the brown hand of the 
woman, and the bestowal of the greater part of 
Aveline’s chocolates into the mouths of the dark- 
eyed children. 

Dandy was placed between the shafts once more, 


136 The Madcap of the School 

and the parcels were restored to the gig. The girls, 
being doubtful as to the security of the hastily- 
mended harness, did not venture to mount inside, 
but led the pony by the head, lest he should be 
inspired to race down another hill. It was a slow 
progress back, and the workers were just returning 
from the fields as they reached the camp. Naturally 
there were no potatoes for dinner that day, though 
Raymonde and Aveline congratulated themselves 
that the bread was just in time. They were the 
heroines of the hour when they related their adven- 
tures, and even Miss Gibbs did not scold them, 
though they afterwards heard her remarking to 
Miss Hoyle that Miss Jones was a poor manager, 
and ought to make better arrangements about 
catering. 

“Gibbie’s got to let fly at somebody!” chuckled 
Raymonde. “If it can’t be us, it’s someone else, but 
she’d better not try criticizing Miss Jones’s methods 
to her face, or there’ll be fighting in the camp.” 

“Wouldn’t I like to see a match between them!” 
sighed Aveline. “ I’d stake my all on Gibbie, any 
day!” 

“ I don’t know,” said Raymonde reflectively. 
“ Gibbie has fire and spirit, and powers of sarcasm, 
and traditions of Scotch ancestry; but there’s a 
suggestion of icy stubbornness about Miss Jones 
that looks capable of standing out against anybody 
with bulldog grit. I believe I’d back Miss Jones, 
if it came to the point!” 


CHAPTER XII 

Amateur Detectives 


The girls felt that their short week of strawberry 
picking was crammed more full of experiences than 
a whole term of ordinary school life. There were 
so many interesting people at the camp who had 
been working at various absorbing occupations, 
and were ready to talk about their adventures. 
Miss Hoyle could give accounts of celebrities 
whom she had been sent to interview by her news- 
paper; Miss Gordon, the Social Settlement secre- 
tary, had stories of factory girls and their funny 
ways and sayings to relate; Nurse Gibbons had 
much to tell about her training in a London 
hospital ; Miss Parker was an authority on munition 
work, and Miss Lowe, an artist, drew spirited 
sketches of everybody and everything,, to the 
amusement of all. There was a great feeling of 
comradeship and bonhomie in the camp; every- 
one was ready to be friendly, and to meet every- 
body else on equal terms. There was only on< 
member who did not seem responsive and ready 
to mix with the others. This was Mrs. Vernon, 
a shy, reserved little woman, who never blossomed 
out into any confidences. She would sit and listen 
attentively to all the tales told by Miss Hoyle and 


138 The Madcap of the School 

Miss Parker, and would even question the latter 
about her munition work, but she gave no informa- 
tion at all respecting herself or her occupation. It 
was rumoured that she was a widow, but the report 
was not confirmed. The Marlowe Grange girls 
did not much like her, and took very little notice 
of her. It was the easiest thing in the world to 
ignore her, for she seemed to shrink from even 
the most ordinary civilities, and would vouchsafe 
nothing but a curt reply when spoken to. 

On the morning after the expedition to Ledcombe 
there was considerable excitement in Raymonde’s 
tent. Katherine woke up with her face covered 
with a rash. Morvyth, who slept next to her, 
noticed it immediately, and told her that she had 
better stay in bed until Miss Gibbs saw her. 
Naturally Miss Gibbs was in a state of great appre- 
hension, and feared that Katherine must be sicken- 
ing for measles, scarlatina, chicken-pox, or some 
other infectious complaint. Manifestly the first 
thing to be done was to send for a doctor. The 
nearest medical man lived at Ledcombe, and in 
order to save time Raymonde and Aveline offered 
to walk in to Shipley village, and telephone to him 
from the post office there. 

“Nice little business if Kitty starts an epidemic 
in the camp!” said Aveline as they went along. 
“ I suppose we couldn’t go back to school?” 

“ No, and we shouldn’t be allowed to pick straw- 
berries either, if we were infectious. They’d turn us 
out of the camp, and treat us like lepers.” 

“Oh, I say! It would be no fun at all!” 

They had reached Shipley by this time — a little 
quaint old-world place consisting of one village 


Amateur Detectives 


139 


street of picturesque cottages, most of them covered 
with roses or vines, and with flowery gardens in 
front. The tiny church stood on a mound, sur- 
rounded by trees, and looked far smaller than the 
handsome vicarage whose great gates opened op- 
posite the school. The post office appeared also to 
be a general store, where articles of every description 
were on sale. From the ceiling were suspended 
tin pails, coils of clothes-line, rows of boots or 
shoes, pans, kettles, brooms, and lanterns, while 
the walls were lined with shelves containing 
groceries and draperies, stationery, hosiery, quack 
medicines, garden seeds, and, in fact, an absolutely 
miscellaneous assortment of goods and chattels, 
some old, some new, some fresh, some faded, some 
appetizing, and some decidedly stale. 

Raymonde asked to use the telephone, and retired 
to the little boxed-off portion of the shop reserved 
for that instrument, where she successfully rang 
up Dr. Wilton, and received his promise to caff 
during the morning at the camp. This most press- 
ing business done, they proceeded to execute a 
few commissions for Miss Jones, Miss Lowe, and 
several other members of the party. Miss Hoyle 
had begged them to buy a few yards of anything 
with which she might trim a large shady rush hat 
she had brought with her, so the girls asked the 
postmistress to show them some white ribbon. 
That elderly spinster, having first, with consider- 
able ingenuity, satisfied her curiosity as to the 
object for which they required it, commenced a 
vigorous hunt among the miscellaneous collection 
of boxes in her establishment. 

“ I know 1 have some,” she soliloquized, “for it 


140 The Madcap of the School 

was only six weeks ago I sold a yard and a half to 
Mrs. Cox, to finish a tea-cosy she was making. 
Where can I have put it? No, this is lead-pencils 
and india-rubber, and this, neuralgic powders and 
babies’ comforters. It might have got into the 
small wares, but I had that out only yesterday. 
Why, here it is, after all, among the tapes and 
buttons!” 

The girls soon found that shopping at Shipley 
possessed an immense advantage over kindred ex- 
peditions in town. When there was only a single 
article, no selection could be made; it was impos- 
sible to be bewildered with too many fineries, and 
“This or nothing” offered a unique simplicity in 
the way of choice. Miss Pearson, the postmistress, 
decided for them that the ribbon was the right 
width and quality, and even offered a few hints on 
the subject of trimming. 

“ I believe she’s longing to do it herself!” whis- 
pered Aveline. “Are those specimens of her mil- 
linery in the window? I’d as soon wear a cauliflower 
on my head as that erection with the squirms ot 
velvet and the lace border!” 

“You’re sure three yards will be sufficient?” 
pattered the little storekeeper. “Well, of course 
you can come for more if you want. I’m not likely 
to be selling it out, and, if anybody should happen 
to come and ask for the rest of it, I’ll get them to 
wait till you’ve finished trimming your hat. Dear 
me! If I haven’t mislaid my scissors now! I was 
cutting flowers with them in the garden before 
breakfast, and I must have put them down in the 
middle of the sweet peas, or on the onion bed. It 
wouldn’t take me five minutes to find them. You’d 


Amateur Detectives 


141 

rather not wait? Then perhaps you’ll excuse my 
using this.” 

Without further apology, Miss Pearson seized 
the carving-knife with which she usually operated 
on the cheese and bacon, and, giving it a hasty 
wipe upon her apron, proceeded to saw through 
the ribbon, wrapping up the three yards in a scrap 
of newspaper. 

“I’m sorry I’m out of paper bags,” she announced 
airily, “but the traveller only calls once in six 
months. Let me know how you get on with the 
hat, and, if you want any help that I can give you, 
just bring it across to me, and I’ll do my best. By 
the by, I suppose you young ladies go to a fine 
boarding-school? Do you learn foreign languages 
there?” 

“Why, yes — French and German and Latin — 
most of us,” replied Raymonde, rather astonished. 

“Then perhaps you’ll be so good as to help me, 
for there’s a letter arrived this morning I can make 
nothing of. It’s certainly not in English, but 
whether it’s in French or German or Russian or 
what, I can’t say, for I’m no authority on lan- 
guages.” 

“ Let me look at it, and I will do my best.” 

Miss Pearson bustled to her postmistress’s desk, 
and with an air of great importance produced the 
letter. Raymonde took it carelessly enough, but 
when she had grasped a few sentences her expres- 
sion changed. She read it through to the end, 
then laid it down on the counter without offering 
to translate. 

“This is not addressed to you, I think,” she 
remarked. 


142 The Madcap of the School 

“ You’re quite right, it’s for Martha Verney; but 
she’s no scholar, so I opened it for her, like I do 
for many folks in Shipley. I was quite taken 
aback when I couldn’t make it out, and Martha 
said: ‘ Miss Pearson, if you can’t read it, I’m sure 
nobody else can!’ But I told her to leave it, in 
case anyone came into the shop who could.” 

“Where’s the envelope?” asked Raymonde 
briefly. 

“ It’s here. The writing is small and queer, isn’t 
it? I had to put on both my pairs of glasses, one 
over the other, before I could see properly.” 

“You’ve made a very great mistake,” said Ray- 
monde. “The letter is addressed to Mrs. Vernon, 
Poste Restante, Shipley.” 

“Well, I never! I thought it was Martha 
Verney. There are no Vernons in Shipley.” 

“There’s a Mrs. Vernon at the camp. No 
doubt it’s intended for her.” 

“Well, I am sorry,” replied Miss Pearson. “To 
think of me being postmistress all these years, and 
making such a mistake! I’ll put it in an official 
envelope and readdress it. She’ll get it to-morrow. 
Is it important? I suppose you were able to under- 
stand it?” with a suggestive glance at the letter, as 
if she hoped Raymonde would reveal its contents. 

Raymonde, however, did not answer her question. 

“ I think you had better seal it up at once,” she 
parried, “and drop it into the box, and then you’ll 
feel you’ve finished with it.” 

“Oh, it will be all right! I hope I know my 
duties. If people addressed their envelopes pro- 
perly in a plain hand, there’d be no mistakes,” 
snapped Miss Pearson, highly offended, putting 


Amateur Detectives 


143 

back the bone of contention among her papers, and 
locking the desk. She knew she had been caught 
tripping, and wished to preserve her official dignity 
as far as possible. “ Pve opened Martha Verney’s 
letters for the last fifteen years, and had no com- 
plaints,” she added. 

“Ave,” said Raymonde, as the two girls left the 
shop and turned up the lane towards the camp, 
“that was a most important letter. I didn’t tell 
that old curiosity-box so, but it was written in 
German. I’d Fraulein as my governess for four 
years before I came to school, so I can read Ger- 
man pretty easily, as you know. Well, I couldn’t 
quite understand everything, but the general drift 
seems to be that Mrs. Vernon has a husband or 
a brother or a cousin named Carl, who is interned 
not so far away from here, and is trying to escape. 
This evening’s the time fixed, and he’s coming into 
the neighbourhood of our camp, and she’s to meet 
him, and give him clothes and money.” 

“Good gracious! What are we to do? Go back 
and ’phone to the police — or tell Mr. Rivers?” 

“Neither,” said Raymonde decidedly. “After 
that idiotic business on Wednesday night, trying 
to guard the larder with everybody tumbling over 
everyone else, it’s worse than useless to tell. It 
would be all over the camp in five minutes, and 
Mrs. Vernon would hear about it, and go and warn 
‘Carl’ somehow. As for the police, they’d spend 
a week in preliminaries. They’d have to send a 
constable to look at the letter, and ask questions of 
us, and Miss Pearson, and Mr. Rivers, and no end 
of red-tape nonsense; and by that time Carl would 
be safely out of the country, and on to a neutral 


i44 The Madcap of the School 

vessel. No, my idea is to ‘set a thief to catch a 
thief’. I’m going to ask the gipsies to help us. If 
anybody can deal with the business, they can!” 

“Topping!” exclaimed Aveline. “I’d back the 
gipsies against the best detectives in England.” 

“ I’ll go to the field and talk to that woman who 
caught Dandy for us yesterday. Mr. Rivers sent 
a horse last night, and brought their caravan to the 
farm, so they’ll all be at work picking this morning. 
Don’t tell a single soul in the camp. You and I 
will watch Mrs. Vernon, and follow her if she goes 
out, and the gipsies shall keep guard in the wood 
where she’s evidently arranged to meet him. They’ll 
get a reward if they catch him.” 

“That’ll spur them on, as well as the sport of the 
thing!” laughed Aveline. 

The girls were fearfully excited at the idea of 
such an adventure. They had never liked Mrs. 
Vernon, and now saw good ground for their sus- 
picions. They wondered how much information 
she had gleaned at the camp, for Miss Hoyle and 
Miss Parker were not very discreet in their com- 
munications. They walked at once to the gardens, 
found their Romany friend among the strawberries, 
and with much secrecy told her the whole affair. 
As they had expected, she rose magnificently to 
the occasion. 

“You leave it to us gipsies,” she assured them. 
“ Bless you, we’re used to this kind of job. There’s 
a lot of us altogether working here, and I’ll pass the 
word on. There’ll be scouts this evening behind 
nearly every hedge, and if any German comes this 
way we’ll get him, I promise you. You keep your 
eve on that Mrs. Vernon ! We may want a signal. 


Amateur Detectives 


145 


Look here, lady; come to the back of that shed, and 
I’ll teach you the gipsies’ whistle. Anybody with 
Romany blood in them ’s bound to answer it.” 

The gipsy’s whistle was a peculiar bird-like call, 
not very easy to imitate. Raymonde had to try again 
and again before she could accomplish it to her 
instructress’s satisfaction. At last, however, she 
had it perfectly. 

“ Don’t use it till you must,” cautioned her dark- 
eyed confederate; “ but, if we hear it, it will bring 
the lot of us out. Now I must go back to my pick- 
ing, or the agent will be turning me off.” 

“And I must rush back to the camp,” declared 
Raymonde, remembering that Miss Gibbs, who 
had stayed with the invalid, would expect a report 
of the visit to the telephone. The excitement of 
the German letter had temporarily banished 
Katherine’s illness from her thoughts, and she 
reproached herself for her unkindness in forgetting 
her friend. The doctor called during the course 
of the morning, and, after examining the patient, 
pronounced her complaint to be neither measles, 
chicken-pox, nor anything of an infectious char- 
acter, but merely a rash due to the eating of too 
many strawberries. 

“They cause violent dyspepsia in some people,” 
he remarked. “ I will make up a bottle of medi- 
cine, if you can send anybody over on a bicycle for 
it this afternoon. You mustn’t eat any more straw- 
berries, young lady. They’d be simply poison to 
you at present. Oh yes! you may go and pick 
them; the occupation will do you no harm.” 

Much relieved that they had not started a centre 
of infection in the camp, Katherine and Miss Gibbs 

(0 887) 10 


146 The Madcap of the School 

returned to work after lunch, the latter issuing 
special instructions to her girls against the excessive 
consumption of the fruit they were gathering. 
Katherine was inclined to pose as an interesting 
invalid, and to claim sympathy, but the general 
feeling of her schoolfellows was against that atti- 
tude, and the verdict was “ Greedy pig! Serves 
her right!” which was not at all to her satis- 
faction. 

‘‘You’re most unkind!” she wailed. “You’ve 
every one of you eaten quite as many strawberries 
as I have, only I’ve a delicate digestion, and can’t 
stand them like you can. You’re a set of ostriches! 
I believe you’d munch turnips if you were sent to 
hoe them! I don’t mind what you say. So there!” 

As half-past six drew on, and most of the workers 
were handing in their last baskets for the day, 
Raymonde and Aveline kept watchful eyes on Mrs. 
Vernon. They fully expected that she might dis- 
appear on the way back to the camp, so, without 
making their purpose apparent, they shadowed her, 
pretending that they were looking for flowers in the 
hedge. They hung about in the vicinity of her tent 
until supper-time, and changed their seats at table so 
that they might sit nearer to her in the marquee. 
When the meal was over, and the washing up and 
water carrying finished, nearly everybody collected 
for an amateur concert. Miss Hoyle had a banjo, 
which she played atrociously out of tune, but on 
which she nevertheless strummed accompaniments 
while the rest roared out “Little Grey Home in the 
West”, “The Long, Long Trail”, and other 
popular songs. It was certainly not classical music, 
but it was amusing; and, as everybody joined in the 


Amateur Detectives 


147 


choruses, the company consisted entirely of per- 
formers, with no audience except the cows in the 
adjacent pasture. Even Mrs. Vernon was singing, 
though with an inscrutable look in her grey eyes 
hardly suggestive of enjoyment. 

“ She’s doing it as a blind!” whispered Ray- 
monde to Aveline. “ Don’t let her out of your 
sight for a single moment!” 

When the fun was at its height, and everybody 
seemed fully occupied with ragtimes, two pairs of 
watchful eyes noticed Mrs. Vernon slip quietly 
away in the direction of her tent. She went inside 
for a moment, then, coming out again with a parcel 
in her hand, walked rapidly towards a stile that 
led into the fields. Raymonde and Aveline allowed 
her to reach the other side of it, then flew like the 
wind to a gap in the hedge through which they 
could see into the next meadow. She was walking 
along the path among the hay, in the direction of 
the wood, and was no doubt congratulating her- 
self upon getting rid of her camp-mates so easily. 
There was nothing at all unusual in the fact of her 
taking a stroll ; many of the workers did so in the 
evenings, though they generally went two or three 
together. Had it not been for the letter she had 
read at the post office, Raymonde’s suspicions 
would probably never have been aroused. The 
two girls crossed the stile, and began to follow 
Mrs. Vernon as if they, too, were merely enjoying 
an ordinary walk, leaving a considerable distance 
between her and themselves. She turned round 
once, but as they were in the shadow of the hedge 
she did not see them. It was a more difficult busi- 
ness to track her through the wood. The light 


148 The Madcap of the School 

was waning fast here, and in her brown costume 
she was sometimes almost indistinguishable among 
the tree-trunks and bushes. That she was going 
to some specially arranged trysting-place they were 
certain. Using infinite caution, they followed her. 
Towards the middle of the wood she paused, looked 
round, and, seeing nobody (for the girls were hidden 
behind a tangle of bramble), she stood still and 
called softly. There was no answer. She called 
again, waited a few moments, and then began to 
walk farther on into the wood. She was at a point 
where two paths divided, and she chose the one to 
the right. 

“Ave,” whispered Raymonde, “we must spread 
ourselves out. She’s evidently looking for ‘ Carl ’, 
and he may be on the other path. We mustn’t 
miss him. You follow her, and I’ll take the way to 
the left.” 

Aveline nodded and obeyed. She did not much 
relish going alone, but she had a profound respect 
for her chum’s judgment. The path which Ray- 
monde had chosen was the narrower and more 
overgrown. She stole along, listening and watch- 
ing. After a few hundred yards she came to an 
ancient yew-tree, the trunk of which, worn with 
age, was no more than a hollow shell. It would be 
perfectly possible for anyone to hide here. An idea 
occurred to her, venturesome indeed, but certainly 
feasible. Raymonde was not a girl to stop and 
consider risks. If an escaped German were in the 
wood, it was her duty to her king and country to 
try to effect his arrest. All her patriotism rose 
within her, and, though her heart thumped rather 
loudly, she told herself that she was not afraid. 


Amateur Detectives 


149 


Going into the middle of the path, she called as 
Mrs. Vernon had done, then dived into the shelter 
of the hollow tree. 

“ If he’s anywhere near here, that’ll bring him!” 
she thought. 

For a moment all was silence, then came a 
crashing among the bushes, and an answering 
call. Someone was coming in the direction of the 
yew-tree. 

Peeping from her hiding-place, Raymonde could 
just distinguish a man’s figure advancing through 
the gathering darkness of the wood. Then awful 
fear fell upon her. Suppose he were to look inside 
the hollow tree and find her? He was a German, 
and a desperate man; she was a girl, and alone. 
Why, oh why had she sent Aveline away? He 
would be quite capable of murdering her. 

In that moment of agony she bitterly repented 
her folly. To be sure, there were the gipsies, but 
she was not certain whether they were really within 
call, and would come quickly in answer to her 
signal. The footsteps drew nearer, they were 
almost at the tree; she shrank to the farthest 
corner, trusting that in the darkness her brown 
serge school costume might escape notice. Just 
at that moment another cautious shout sounded 
through the wood. The footsteps stopped, so near 
to her tree that Raymonde could see the flap of a 
coat through the opening; then they turned, and 
went in the direction of the voice. Raymonde 
drew a long breath of intense relief, and peeped 
out. The man was tacking down a little incline 
towards the brook, guided by a further call. 

“ I’ve seen he’s here, and I know he’s going 


150 The Madcap of the School 

down there to meet her,” thought Raymonde. 
“It’s time for me to act.” 

She slipped from the tree, ran nearer to the edge 
of the wood, and gave the peculiar blackbird-like 
whistle which the Romany woman had taught her. 
Its effect was immediate. Within ten seconds one 
of the gipsy boys ran up to her, and she told him 
briefly what had occurred. 

“I’ll pass the signal on,” he replied. “There’s 
a ring of us all round the wood. We won’t let him 
go, you bet!” 

He gave a low cry like the hooting of an owl, 
which was at once answered from the right and the 
left. 

“That means ‘close the ring’,” he explained. 
“We’ve all sorts of calls that we understand and 
talk to each other by when we’re in the woods. 
They’ll all be moving on now.” 

The gipsy boy went forward, and Raymonde, 
with her heart again thumping wildly, followed at 
a little distance. This was indeed an adventure. 
She wondered where Aveline was, and if she were 
equally frightened. She wished she had not left 
her friend alone. 

The gipsies, well versed in wood-craft, walked as 
silently as hunters stalking a buck. She would 
not have known they were within a mile of her, had 
she not been told. Her boy guide had vanished 
temporarily among the bushes. She stood still for 
a few minutes, uncertain what to do. 

Then there was a shout, and a sound of running 
footsteps crashing through the bushes, excited 
voices called, and presently between the trees came 
five or six of the gipsies hauling a man whose arms 


Amateur Detectives 151 

they had already bound with a rope. The Romany 
woman, herself as strong as any man, was helping 
with apparent gusto. When she saw Raymonde 
she ran to her. 

“We’ve got him right enough, lady!” she ex- 
claimed triumphantly. 44 They’re going to take 
him to the farm, and borrow a trap to take him to 
the jail at Ledcombe. We nabbed him by the 
brook as neat as anything. The other young lady’s 
over there.” 

44 Aveline! Aveline!” called Raymonde, rushing 
in pursuit of her friend. 

The two girls clung to each other eagerly. They 
were both thoroughly frightened. 

4 4 Let’s go back to the camp,” gasped Aveline. 
44 1 daren’t stay here any longer. Oh! I was 
terrified when you left me!” 

44 What’s become of Mrs. Vernon?” asked Ray- 
monde. 

Aveline did not know. In the hullabaloo of the 
pursuit the woman had been allowed to escape. 
She had the wisdom not to return to the camp, and 
was indeed never seen again in the neighbourhood. 
Great was the excitement at the farm when the 
gipsies brought in the German. Mr. Rivers him- 
self undertook to drive them and their prisoner to 
the jail. 

Raymonde and Aveline had a thrilling story to 
tell in the marquee that night, where everybody 
collected to hear the wonderful experience, those 
who had already gone to their tents donning dress- 
ing-gowns and coming to join the interested 
audience. Miss Gibbs seemed divided between a 
sense of her duty as a schoolmistress to scold her 


i52 The Madcap of the School 

pupils for undertaking such an extremely wild pro- 
ceeding, and a glow of pride that her girls had 
actually succeeded in effecting the capture of an 
escaped enemy. On the whole, pride and patriot- 
ism prevailed, and the pair were let off with only 
a caution against madcap adventures. 

Raymonde found herself the idol of the gipsies at 
the strawberry gardens next day. 

“We’re to have a big reward, lady, for copping 
that German!” said the Romany woman. “It’ll 
buy us a new horse for our caravan. Will you 
please accept this basket from us? We wish we’d 
anything better to offer you. I’ll teach you three 
words of Romany — let me whisper! Don’t you 
forget them, and if you’re ever in trouble, and want 
help from the gipsies, you’ve only to say those 
words to them, and they’ll give their last drop of 
blood for you. But don’t tell anybody else, lady; 
the words are only for you.” 

“ What was she saying to you?” asked Morvyth 
curiously. 

“I can’t tell you,” replied Raymonde. “It’s a 
secret!” 


CHAPTER XIII 


Camp Hospitality 

The brief visit at the camp was vanishing with 
almost incredible rapidity; the week would finish 
on Saturday, but Miss Gibbs had decided to stay 
till Monday morning, so as to put in the full period 
of work on Saturday afternoon. Sunday was of 
course a holiday, and the pickers enjoyed a well- 
earned rest. Those who liked went to the little 
church in Shipley village, the clergyman of which 
also held an outdoor service in the stackyard at the 
farm for all whom he could persuade to come. 

In the afternoon the members of the camp gave 
themselves up to hospitality. They had small and 
select private tea-parties, and invited each other, the 
hostesses generally being “at home” in some cosy 
spot beneath a tree, or under the shelter of a hedge, 
where the alfresco repast was spread forth, each 
guest bringing her own mug and plate. Raymonde, 
Morvyth, Katherine, and Aveline were the recip- 
ients of a very special invitation, and Miss Gibbs 
assenting, they accepted it with glee. Miss Lowe, 
the artist with whom they had struck up a friend- 
ship, had removed on Friday from the camp to 
lodgings at an old farm near the village, and she 
had asked her four school -girl acquaintances to 


i54 The Madcap of the School 

come for early dinner and tea, so that they might 
spend the afternoon with her. 

Miss Lowe was an interesting personality. She 
sketched beautifully, and had shown the girls a 
few charming specimens of her work. She had 
been painting in the neighbourhood for some weeks 
before the strawberry picking began, and had many 
quaint accounts to give of her experiences. Her 
quarters in the village had been decidedly uncom- 
fortable, and it seemed very uncertain whether the 
rooms she had engaged at the farm would turn out 
to be any improvement. 

“You’ll have to take pot-luck if you come to 
dinner with me,” she announced to her guests. “I 
don’t believe my landlady has even the most ele- 
mentary notions of cooking. The meal will prob- 
ably be a surprise.” 

“We shan’t mind that!” the girls assured her. 

Miss Lowe had chosen her lodgings more for the 
sake of the picturesque than for creature comforts. 
The farm-house was an extremely ancient building, 
and its very dilapidation rendered it a more suitable 
subject for her brush. It consisted of a front later- 
date portion, and a much older part at the back, 
the two being really separate blocks, connected by 
a large central hall. This hall, which measured 
about twenty feet square and thirty feet in height, 
must at one time have belonged to a family of some 
pretensions. The walls to a height of fifteen feet 
were covered with splendid oak panelling, grey 
with neglect, and above that were ornamented with 
plaster designs in bas-relief — lions, unicorns, wild 
boars, stags, and other heraldic devices, a form of 
decoration which was also continued over the ceil- 


i55 


Camp Hospitality 

ing. The back part of the house was evidently the 
older; the same beautiful plaster-work was to be 
seen, both in the bedrooms and kitchen, together 
with fine black oak beams. There was a winding 
stair to the upper story, with narrow windows that 
suggested a castle, and that dull, dim, soft yellow- 
brown light about everything which only seems 
reflected from ancient walls. The front portion 
consisted of two great sitting-rooms, one of which 
was empty, while the other had been arranged for 
the accommodation of visitors. Neither walls nor 
window-sills had been touched with paint for half 
a century, and they were sadly in need of atten- 
tion. The house was the property of an old miser, 
who refused to spend a penny on repairs, and every 
year things went on from bad to worse. The wood- 
work of the wide old staircase was rotting away, 
most of the doors were off their hinges, and the 
rain came through several spots in the roof. Like 
many another fine mansion, it had descended from 
hall to farm-house, and showed now but faded 
relics of its former grandeur. 

The farmer and his family lived entirely in the 
back premises, and the whole of the front was given 
up to their lodgers. 

“ I shouldn’t like to sleep here alone,” said 
Morvyth, as Miss Lowe acted cicerone and showed 
them through the house. “ These long, gloomy, 
eerie corridors give me the shivers!” 

“I felt the same,” admitted their friend, “so I 
persuaded Miss Barton to join me. She’s as mad 
on the antique as I am, and together we enjoy 
ourselves immensely, though we should each feel 
spooky alone. Our first business last night was to 


156 The Madcap of the School 

turn five bats out of our bedroom. There’s an open 
trap-door in the ceiling of the landing, and a whole 
colony of them seem to be established up there; 
they flit up and down the stairs at dusk! One has 
to sacrifice comfort to the picturesque. I think I 
begin to have just a glimmer of an understanding 
why some people prefer new houses to old!” 

Both Miss Lowe and Miss Barton certainly found 
their romantic proclivities came into collision with 
their preconceived ideas of the fitness of things. 
Mrs. Marsden, their landlady, was a kind soul who 
did her best; but she had all her farm work and 
a large family of children to cope with, so it was 
small wonder that cobwebs hung in the passages 
and the dust lay thick and untouched. Tt is some- 
times wiser not to see behind the scenes in country 
rooms. Miss Barton had set up her easel in the 
great hall, and absolutely revelled in painting the 
grey oak and plaster-work, nevertheless she had a 
tale of woe to unfold. 

“They use the place as a dairy,” she explained, 
“and they keep the milk in large, uncovered 
earthenware pots. First I found the cat was lap- 
ping away at it, and I jumped up and scared it off; 
and then the dog strayed in and began to help 
itself, and I had to rush again and chase it away. 
Then the unwashed baby, still in its dirty little 
night-gown, brought a mug and kept dipping it 
into the pot to get drinks. We’re going to take 
a jug into the field at milking-time this afternoon, 
and ensure our particular portion straight from the 
cow.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Morvyth, looking 
considerably relieved. 


Camp Hospitality 157 

“ Perhaps it’s as well we don’t see most food- 
stuffs in the making,” moralized Aveline. 

“Decidedly! Isn’t there a story of a barrel of 
treacle, and a little nigger baby being found at the 
bottom?” 

“And an attendant who fell by mistake into the 
sausage machine,” added Miss Lowe, laughing. 
“ I suppose one ought to be judiciously blind if 
one is to preserve one’s peace of mind.” 

“One may shut one’s eyes, but one can’t do away 
with one’s nose!” persisted Miss Barton. “There 
was the most horrible and peculiar and objection- 
able odour in the hall yesterday morning, all the 
time I was painting. I came to the conclusion that 
a rat must have died recently behind the panelling. 
Then Mrs. Marsden came in with some milk-cans, 
and she raised a lid from a big pot close to where 
I was sitting. What do you think was inside? 
Twelve pounds of beef that she had put down to 
pickle! I hinted that it was rather high, but she 
didn’t seem to perceive it in the least. She can’t 
have the slightest vestige of a nose!” 

“ Perhaps, like some tribes of Africans, she pre- 
fers her meat gamey. Don’t look so alarmed, you 
poor girls, it’s not going to appear on our table 
for dinner! I ordered a fowl.” 

“Which was alive only a couple of hours ago, 
for I saw the children assisting to chase it wildly 
round the yard and catch it!” put in Miss Barton. 
“We warned you, when we invited you, not to 
expect too much!” 

Mrs. Marsden’s training in the domestic arts 
had evidently been defective, and her cooking was 
decidedly eccentric. The fowl turned up at table 


\ 


158 The Madcap of the School 

plucked, certainly, but looking very pale and 
anaemic with its long untrussed legs sticking help- 
lessly out before it. It was such an absurd object 
that as soon as the landlady had departed from the 
room the company exploded. 

‘ ‘ How am I to carve the wretched thing?” 
shrieked Miss Lowe. “I hardly know where its 
wings are! I’ve never before seen a chicken served 
absolutely au naturelV ’ 

“ I expect it to rise up and walk!” hinnied Miss 
Barton. “ It seems hardly decent to have left its 
claws on! Look at the sauce! It’s simply bread 
and milk! Oh, for the fleshpots of Egypt!” 

A ground-rice pudding which followed proved 
equally astonishing. Miss Lowe had suggested 
that an egg would be an improvement in its com- 
position, and behold! when it made its appearance 
there was an egg neatly poached in the middle. 
The giggling guests rather enjoyed the episode 
than otherwise. They had come to be entertained, 
and they certainly found plenty to amuse them, 
especially in the humorous attitude with which 
their hostesses viewed all the little inconveniences. 

“ Perhaps we shall do better at tea-time,” said 
Miss Barton hopefully. “ Mrs. Marsden surely 
can’t go very wrong there. We’re going to walk 
to the woods this afternoon. I’ve bespoken Jenny, 
the fourth child, as a guide. She’s the most 
quaintly fascinating person. I hope she won’t be 
long; we’re waiting for her now.” 

The girls were all impatience to start for the 
woods, so, as their little guide was already late, 
Miss Barton went to the kitchen in search of her, 
and found her concluding a somewhat lengthy toilet 


Camp Hospitality 159 

with the assistance of her family. The choicest 
possessions of several members, in assorted sizes, 
seemed to have been commandeered, and she was 
finally turned out in a red serge dress, a black 
jacket much too large, a feather boa, and a pair of 
woollen gloves, which, considering that it was quite 
a hot day, was rank cruelty, though — true daughter 
of Eve as she was — she seemed so pleased with 
her appearance that nothing would induce her to 
pull off her suffocating grandeur. She was not 
at all shy, and very old-fashioned for her seven 
years. The girls found her conversation most en- 
tertaining as they walked along. 

“She is absolutely refreshing!” giggled Ray- 
monde. “The way she shakes out her skirts and 
manoeuvres the sleeves of the big jacket is perfectly 
lovely. She ought to be a mannikin when she 
grows up, and try on coats and mantles in shops. 
Wouldn’t she just enjoy it?” 

To Jenny an expedition with six ladies was 
apparently the opportunity of a lifetime, and she 
was determined to make the most of it. She volun- 
teered to recite, and wound out a long poem in such 
a rapid, breathless monotone that it was hardly 
possible to distinguish a word. The party politely 
expressed gratitude, whereupon she announced: 
“I’ll say it for you again!” and plunged at once 
into an encore. 

“ For pity’s sake stop her! I’m getting hysteri- 
cal!” gurgled Morvyth. “ She’s like a gramophone 
record that’s rather blurred and has been set too 
fast. Thank goodness, here’s the wood! She can’t 
recite while she’s climbing that stile.” 

Everybody decided that the wood was worth the 


160 The Madcap of the School 

walk. They spent a delicious afternoon lying 
under the tall straight pines, with the sweet-smell- 
ing needles for a bed, watching the delicate and 
illusive effects of light filtering among the shim- 
mering leaves of birches. 

“ I feel as if I ought to be picking something !” 
laughed Katherine, throwing pine cones at Ray- 
monde. “ If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never 
forget this strawberry-gathering business. One got 
to do it automatically.” 

“You know the story, don’t you, of the old man 
who described himself in the census as a picker?’ 
said Miss Barton. “When he was asked to explain, 
he said: ‘Well, in June I picks strawberries, and 
then I picks beans, and then I picks hops, then 
when them’s over I picks pockets, and then I gets 
copped and sent to quod, and picks oakum!’ I 
shouldn’t wonder if some of your gipsy friends, 
Raymonde, could boast of a similar record.” 

“I don’t care — they’re top-hole!” declared Ray- 
monde, sticking up for the tribe. 

“Who wants tea?” said Miss Lowe. “We’ve 
asked Miss Nelson and Miss Porter from the camp, 
and if we don’t hurry back at once, we shall find 
them waiting for us when we return, and slanging 
us for being rude. Come along!” 

Miss Lowe had casually informed Mrs. Marsden 
that she expected a few friends to tea, but had not 
mentioned anything about special preparation, 
thinking that they would carry the cups and 
saucers into the garden, and have it under the 
trees. Little did they know the surprise their 
enterprising landlady had in store for them. When 
they arrived at the farm they found her, dressed in 


Camp Hospitality 161 

her best attire, waiting at the door to receive them, 
and she proudly ushered them into the sitting' 
room, where she had spread forth a meal such as 
might be set before a particularly hungry assem- 
blage of Sunday School scholars. 

A large ham, not yet quite cold, adorned one end 
of the table, and a big apple-pie the other, while 
down the centre were seven round jam-tarts, each 
measuring about seven inches in diameter. The 
cruets had been put in the middle of the table 
instead of Miss Barton’s bowl of flowers, and there 
were several substantial platefuls of currant-bread. 
It was an extremely warm afternoon, and even to 
schoolgirl appetites the sight of such plenty at 
4 p.m. was appalling. Miss Lowe’s convulsed 
apologies sent the visitors into explosions. 

“ Look at the tarts!” choked Miss Barton. 
“They’re all made with black-currant jam ! There’s 
one apiece for us, counting the apple-pie. And 
the currant-bread is half an inch thick! Who’ll 
take a slice of lukewarm ham? Oh, it’s positively 
painful to laugh so hard! I never saw such a 
bean-feast in my life!” 

“We certainly can’t consume all these!” echoed 
MissjLowe. “The children must eat up some of 
them for supper. It will take days to get through 
such a larderful! For once they’ll be satiated with 
jam -tarts. Well, I suppose it’s an ill wind that 
blows nobody good. Still, if the baby comes to an 
untimely end through acute dyspepsia, I shan’t be 
in the least surprised.” 

Mrs. Marsden seemed determined to entertain 
her guests, and had yet another surprise in store 
for them. She beckoned them into a little private 

(0 887) 11 


162 The Madcap of the School 

parlour of her own, and showed them the paintings 
of her eldest boy, a youth of eighteen, who, she 
proudly assured them, had never had a drawing 
lesson in his life. It was not difficult to believe 
her, for the specimens were so funny that the 
spectators could hardly keep their faces straight. 
Horses with about as much shape as those in a 
child’s Noah’s ark, figures resembling Dutch dolls 
in rigidity, flowers daubed on with the crudest 
colours, and the final effort, a bird’s-eye view of the 
village, consisting chiefly of tiled roofs and chimney- 
pots in lurid red and black. 

“No doubt it has afforded him the supremest 
delight,” whispered Miss Lowe to Miss Barton, 
“and it’s evidently a subject of the utmost satisfac- 
tion to his mother, so I won’t make carping criti- 
cisms, but take it as a moral for the necessity of due 
humility over one’s own productions. Perhaps 
mine would be as diverting to an Academician as 
his are to me.” 

In the same room Mrs. Marsden showed her 
visitors a mysterious oil-painting, black with age 
and hideous beyond compare, which she informed 
them was an original portrait of Nell Gwynn. She 
supposed it to be immensely valuable, and was keep- 
ing it safe until prices rose a little higher still, after 
the war, when she had hopes of launching it on the 
auction rooms in London, and realizing a sum that 
would make her family’s fortune. 

“An ambition she’ll never realize in this wide 
world,” said Miss Barton afterwards, “for the 
thing is absolutely not genuine. It’s not the right 
period for Nell Gwynn, and it’s so atrociously badly 
painted that it’s obviously the work of some village 


Camp Hospitality 163 

artist. She’s in for a big disappointment some 
day, poor woman! I hadn’t the heart to squash 
her, when she seemed so proud of it — especially as 
she was still a little huffy that we hadn’t consumed 
her black-currant tarts!” 

Though physically they were rather weary, the 
girls were sorry when their week’s strawberry pick- 
ing came to an end. It was found that when their 
canteen bills had been paid, and railway fares sub- 
tracted, they had each earned on an average a 
little over five shillings; some who were quicker 
pickers exceeding that amount, and others falling 
below. They decided to pool the general proceeds, 
and present the sum cleared — ^4, 16 s. 8d . — to the 
Hospital for Disabled Soldiers as their “bit” 
towards their country. They went back to school 
feeling highly patriotic, and burning to boast of 
their experiences to those slackers who had chosen 
the parental roof for their holidays. 

“I’d have loved it!” protested Fauvette, “but 
I really did have a very nice time at home. My 
cousin was back on leave. He’s in the Flying 
Corps, and he’s six feet three in his stockings — 
and — well — I’ve got his photo upstairs, if you’d 
like to look at it.” 

“ Oh, we’re all accustomed to gipsies and poachers 
now, and don’t think anything of airmen!” re- 
turned Morvyth nonchalantly (she was apt to sit on 
Fauvette). “You should see my snapshots of the 
strawberry pickers!” 

“And mine!” broke in Cynthia Greene. “By 
the by, I wrote my name and school address on a 
card, and packed it inside one of my strawberry 
baskets. I put on it: ‘Will the finder kindly 


164 The Madcap of the School 

write to a blue -eyed, fair- haired girl who feels 
lonely?’” 

“Cynthia, you didn’t!” exploded the others. 

“I did — crystal! Why shouldn’t I? Lonely 
soldiers beg for letters, and it’s as lonely at school 
as in barracks any day, at least I find it so!” 

“ Suppose somebody takes you at your word and 
sends an answer?” 

u I heartily and sincerely hope somebody will 
It would be absolutely topping!” 


CHAPTER XIV 


Concerns Cynthia 

‘‘Look here!” said Hermie to Raymonde two 
days later, when the latter was helping the moni- 
tress to put away the wood-carving tools; “what’s 
the matter with Cynthia Greene? She’s behaving 
in the most idiotic fashion — goes mincing about 
the school, and sighing, and even mopping her 
eyes when she thinks anybody’s looking at her. 
What’s she posing about now?” 

“She says she feels lonely — and fair-haired and 
blue-eyed — at least that’s what she wrote inside her 
strawberry basket,” volunteered Raymonde. 

“What in the name of the Muses do you mean?” 

Raymonde explained. The monitress listened 
aghast. 

“Well, I call that the limit!” she exploded. 
“The little monkey! Why, Gibbie would slay 
her if she knew! Such an atrociously cheeky, un- 
ladylike thing to do, and putting her address here 
at the Grange! Bringing discredit on the school! 
I don’t suppose whoever finds it will take any 
notice.” 

“She’s hoping for an answer,” said Raymonde. 
“ I believe she’s just yearning to be mixed up in 
a love affair.” 

m 


1 66 The Madcap of the School 

“At thirteen !” scoffed Hermie. “The silly 
young blighter! I’d like to shake her!” 

“ If you do, she’ll be rather pleased than other- 
wise,” returned Raymonde. “She’ll pose as a 
martyr then, and say the world is unsympathetic. 
I’m beginning to know Cynthia Greene.” 

“I believe you’re right!” said the monitress 
thoughtfully. 

Sentiment was not encouraged at the Grange. 
Miss Beasley very rightly thought that girls should 
keep their childhood as long as possible, and 
that premature love affairs wiped the bloom off 
genuine later experiences. The school in general 
assumed the attitude of scoffing at romance, except 
in the pages of the library books. It was not con- 
sidered good form to allude to it. Tennis or hockey 
was a more popular topic. 

“ So Cynthia’s trying to run the sentimental 
business,” mused Hermie. “ It’ll spread if we 
don’t take care. It’s as infectious as measles. I’m 
not going to have all those juniors wandering 
about the garden, reading poetry instead of practis- 
ing their cricket — it’s not good enough. Yet it’s 
difficult for a monitress to interfere. As you say, 
Cynthia would take a melancholy pride in being 
persecuted. Look here, Raymonde, you’re a young 
blighter yourself sometimes, but you don’t go in 
for this kind of rubbish. Can’t you think of some 
plan to nip the thing in the bud before it goes 
further? You’re generally inventive enough!” 

“ If I might have a free hand for a day or two, 
I might manage something,” admitted Raymonde 
with caution. 

“ I’d tell the other monitresses to let you alone. 


Concerns Cynthia 167 

I don’t mind how you contrive it, as long as you 
knock the nonsense out of the juniors. Cynthia 
Greene of all people, too! The former ornament 
of The Poplars, who used to keep up the tone (so 
she says) and set an example to the rest. What 
is she coming to? I should think they’d want that 
bracelet back, if they knew ! ” 

The Mystic Seven had a special Committee Meet- 
ing before tea, and pledged one another to utmost 
secrecy. The result of their confabulations seemed 
satisfactory to themselves, for they parted chuck- 
ling. 

The next morning, when Cynthia Greene went 
to her desk to take out a lesson book, she found 
inside a letter addressed to herself. She opened 
it in a whirl of excitement. It was written in a 
slanting, backward kind of hand, with a very thick 
pen. Its contents ran thus: 

“Dear Miss Cynthia, 

“Being the fortunate recipient of the card 
placed in a strawberry basket, and bearing your 
name, I am venturing to answer it. I, too, am 
lonely, and long for friendship. I admire blue 
eyes and fair hair; I myself am dark. I should 
like immensely to meet you. Could you possibly 
be at the side gate of your garden shortly after 
seven this evening? I shall arrive by motor, and 
walk past on the chance of seeing you. 

“Yours respectfully but devotedly, 

“Algernon Augustus FITZMAURICE. ,, 

The conduct of Cynthia during the course of the 
day was extraordinary. She exhibited a mixture 


1 68 The Madcap of the School 

of self-importance and fluttering anticipation that 
was highly puzzling to her companions. She re- 
fused to explain, but dropped sufficient hints to 
arouse interest. It was presently whispered among 
the juniors that Cynthia had received a love-letter 
from somebody highly distinguished and aristo- 
cratic. 

“ Did it come by post?” asked Joan Butler. 

“ No, of course not. Gibbie would never have 
given it to her if it had. Cynthia found it inside 
her desk. She doesn’t know who put it there. It’s 
most mysterious.” 

For the day, Cynthia was a heroine of romance 
among her Form. She played the part admirably, 
wearing an abstracted expression in her blue eyes, 
and starting when spoken to, as if aroused from day- 
dreams. She mentioned casually that she believed 
the family of Fitzmaurice to be an extremely ancient 
one, and that its members were mentioned in the 
Peerage . As there was no copy of that volume in 
the school library, nobody could contradict her, and 
her audience murmured interested acquiescence. 
When asked whether they preferred the name of 
Algernon or Augustus, their opinions were divided. 

At first the juniors were sympathetic, but by the 
end of the afternoon the goddess of envy began to 
rear her head in their midst. Cynthia’s manner 
had progressed during the day to a point of patron- 
age that was distinctly aggravating. She openly 
pitied girls who did not receive private letters, and 
spoke of early engagements as highly desirable. 
She missed two catches when fielding at cricket, 
being employed in staring sentimentally at the sky 
instead of watching for the ball. 


i6g 


Concerns Cynthia 

‘‘Buck up, you silly idiot, can’t you? You’re 
a disgrace to the school!” snarled Nora Fawcitt 
furiously. 

Cynthia sighed gently, with the air of “Ah-if- 
you-only-knew-my-feelings!” and twisted the ends 
of her hair into ringlets. After tea, in defiance of 
all school traditions, she changed her dress and put 
on her best slippers. She appeared in the school- 
room with a bunch of pansies pinned into her belt. 

Preparation was from six to seven, and was 
supposed to be a period of strenuous mental appli- 
cation. That evening, however, Cynthia made 
little progress with her Latin exercise or the Wars 
of the Roses. Her Form mates, looking up in the 
intervals of conning their textbooks, noted her sit- 
ting with idle pen, gazing raptly into space or 
glancing anxiously at the clock. Though she had 
not confided the details of her secret, her com- 
panions felt that something was going to happen. 
Romance was in the atmosphere. Several of the 
juniors found themselves wishing that clandestine 
letters had appeared in their desks also. When the 
signal for dismissal was given, and the girls trooped 
from the schoolroom, Cynthia mysteriously melted 
away somewhere. Ardiune, walking round the 
quad, five minutes later, accosted Joan Butler, 
Janet Macpherson, Nancie Page, and Isobel Parker, 
who were sitting on the steps of the sundial read- 
ing Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s Poems of Love, 

“ If you’d like a little sport,” she observed, 
“come along with me. You may bring Elsie and 
Nora if you can find them. I promise you a jinky 
time!” 

The juniors rose readily. None of them were 


170 The Madcap of the School 

really very fond of reading, but Cynthia had lent 
them the book earlier in the day, with a few pages 
turned down for reference. They flung it on to 
the stone step, with scant regard for its white cover. 
Ardiune led her recruits hastily to the back drive, 
and bade them hide behind the thick laurel and 
clipped holly bushes that backed the border. 

“ Somebody you know is coming to keep an 
appointment, and will get a surprise,” she volun- 
teered. 

They had hardly taken cover when Cynthia 
Greene appeared, strolling along the drive. She 
advanced to the gate, leaned her elbow on it, and, 
posing picturesquely, glanced with would-be care- 
lessness up and down the back lane, and coughed. 

At this very evident signal a figure emerged 
from the shelter of the opposite bushes and strode 
to the gate. The juniors gasped. They had all 
taken part in last Christmas’s term-end perform- 
ance, and they easily recognized the hat, long coat, 
and military moustache of the school theatrical 
wardrobe, the only masculine garments permitted 
at the Grange. Cynthia, being a new-comer, was 
not acquainted with them. Her agitated eyes 
merely took in a manly vision who was accosting 
her politely, though without removing his hat. 

“ Have I the pleasure of addressing Miss Cynthia 
Greene?” asked a deep-toned voice. 

Cynthia, utterly overcome, giggled a faint assent. 

“ I am Algernon Augustus. Delighted to make 
your acquaintance! You’re the very girl I’ve always 
longed to meet. I can’t describe my loneliness, 
and how I’m yearning for sympathy. Fairest, love- 
liest one, will you smile upon me?” 


Concerns Cynthia 171 

What Cynthia might have answered it is im- 
possible to guess, but at that critical moment the 
hat, which was several sizes too large, tilted to 
one side, and allowed Raymonde’s hair to escape 
down her back. Cynthia’s agitated shriek brought 
a crowd of witnesses from out the laurel bushes. 
They did not spare their victim, and a perfect storm 
of chaff descended upon her. 

“ Did it go to meet its ownest own?” 

“ Did you call him Algernon, or Augustus?” 

“ Did he tell you his family pedigree?” 

“ Where’s his motor-car, please?” 

“ Is the engagement announced yet?” 

“ I think you’re a set of beasts!” whimpered 
Cynthia, leaning her head against the gate and 
sobbing. 

“ If you hadn’t been such a silly idiot you 
wouldn’t have been taken in by such a trans- 
parent business,” returned Raymonde, pulling off 
her moustache. “ Look here, we don’t care about 
this sickly sort of stuff, so the sooner you drop it 
the better. Gracious, girl! Turn off the waterworks! 
Be thankful Gibbie didn’t scent out your romance, 
that’s all ! If the Bumble knew you’d put that card 
inside that strawberry basket, she’d pack up your 
boxes and send you home by the next train. Crystal 
clear, she would!” 

For at least a week after this, Cynthia Greene 
suffered a chastened life, and shed enough tears 
to make her pocket-handkerchiefs a conspicuous 
item in her laundry bag. She began to wish that 
the names of Augustus and Algernon could be 
expunged from the English language. Her Form 
mates hinted that she might receive a present of 


172 The Madcap of the School 

Debrett’s Peerage on her next birthday. If she 
missed a ball at tennis, or slacked a little at cricket, 
somebody was sure to enquire: “Thinking of him?” 
She found a picture of two turtle-doves attached to 
the pincushion on her dressing-table, and drawings 
of hearts and darts were scrawled by unknown 
hands inside her textbooks. Moreover, she lived 
in constant dread lest somebody should have really 
found the card inside the strawberry basket, and 
should send an answer by post, which would fall 
into the hands of Miss Beasley. The prospect of 
expulsion from the school haunted her. 

Fortunately for her, nobody troubled to notice 
her request for correspondence, the basket of straw- 
berries having probably found its way to some 
snuffy individual at a greengrocer’s stall, who took 
no interest in the loneliness of blue-eyed, fair-haired 
damsels. As for her volume of Poems of Love , 
Hermie confiscated it until the end of the term, and 
recommended a Manual of Cricket instead. 


CHAPTER XV 

On the River 

Miss Gibbs was fast arriving at the disappointing 
conclusion that patriotism costs dearly: in other 
words, that if you take away eighteen girls to do 
strawberry picking, you cannot expect them, im- 
mediately on their return, to settle down again into 
ordinary routine and everyday habits. An atmos- 
phere of camp life seemed to pervade the place, 
a free-and-easy, rollicking spirit that was not at all 
in accordance with Miss Beasley’s ideas of pro- 
priety. The Principal, who had never altogether 
approved of the week on the land, considered that 
the school was demoralized, and made a firm effort 
to restore discipline. The monitresses, several of 
whom had been guilty of whistling in the passages, 
were summoned separately for private interviews in 
the study, whence they issued somewhat subdued 
and abashed; and the rank and file, by means of 
punishment lessons and fines, were made to feel a 
wholesome respect for the iron hand of the law. 

Miss Beasley and Miss Gibbs agreed that the 
Fifth Form gave the largest amount of trouble. It 
was here that most of the mischief fermented and 
fizzed out on unexpected occasions. At present the 
Mystic Seven, who beforetime had offered a united 

178 


i74 The Madcap of the School 

front to the world, were suffering from a series of 
internal quarrels. The four who had been to camp 
assumed an air of superiority over the three who 
had not, which led to unpleasantness. Naturally it 
was annoying to Ardiune, Valentine, and Fauvette 
to hear constant allusions to people they had not 
met, and to thrilling experiences in which they had 
not participated. They sulked or flew out as the 
occasion might be. 

“ I believe you’re just making up half the things 
to stuff us!” sneered Ardiune. 

4 4 Indeed we’re not!” flared Morvyth. “Every 
word we’ve told you is gospel truth, as you’d have 
found out if you’d come and done your bit for your 
country!” 

“ D’you mean to call me a slacker?” 

“ Certainly not, but it’s no use ostriching about 
things. You either went and picked strawberries, 
or you didn’t.” 

“You know I wasn’t allowed to go! You mean 
wretch!” 

“ I know nothing at all about it.” 

“Well, I’ve told you a dozen times.” 

“ I really can’t listen, child, to all the things you 
tell me!” 

“Then I shan’t take the trouble to speak to you 
again !” 

With Ardiune and Morvyth on terms of distant 
iciness, Valentine and Katherine constantly spar- 
ring over trifles, Fauvette preserving an attitude 
of martyred dignity, and Aveline, out of sheer 
perversity, striking up a friendship with Maudie 
Heywood, matters were not very brisk in the Fifth. 

“I’m getting just about fed up with you all!” 


On the River 


>75 


said Raymonde irritably. “ I never saw such a 
s&t! How can we have any fun, when everybody’s 
grousing with everyone else? For goodness’ sake, 
buck up! I’ve a blossomy idea in my head! Yes, 
I have, honest!” 

Signs of interest manifested themselves on the 
faces of her companions. Raymonde’s ideas were 
always worth listening to. Aveline stopped yawn- 
ing, Morvyth desisted from kicking her geography 
book round the floor, and Fauvette snapped the 
clasp of her bracelet, and sat bolt upright. 

“We’re hanging upon your words, if you’ll 
condescend to explain, O Queen!” she vouch- 
safed. 

Raymonde bowed, with heels together and hands 
back, like the star of a pierrot troupe. 

“Don’t mensh! Glad to do my bit!” she re- 
plied. “Well, my notion’s this. It’s the Bumble’s 
birthday on Friday!” 

“As if every girl in the school didn’t know that!” 
chafed Ardiune impatiently. “ Haven’t we all 
given our shillings towards her present ages ago? 
Really, Ray, what more chestnuts are you going 
to bring forth?” 

“Don’t be in such a hurry, my good child! 
I haven’t finished yet. I should have thought you 
could have trusted your grannie by this time. My 
remark, though no doubt stale, was only one of 
those preliminary announcements with which a 
chairman always has to begin — like ‘ Glad to see 
so many bright young faces collected here’, or 
‘ Gratified to be allowed the pleasure of saying a 
few words to you’. But don’t look so scared, I’m 
not going to prose on like a real chairman at a 


176 The Madcap of the School 

prize-giving; I’m going to get to the point quick. 
Being the Bumble’s birthday — if you grin, Ardiune 
Coleman-Smith, I’ll pinch you! — Being, as I have 
observed, the Bumble’s birthday, it seems only right 
and fit and proper that the other bees in the hive 
should buzz in sympathy, and take a holiday, and 
go and sip nectar. Let us copy Nature’s methods!” 

“Copy Nature, by all means,” sneered Ardiune, 
“ only don’t suggest that bumble-bees live in hives, 
or you’ll be a little out of it!” 

“Oh, you’re so literal! It’s only for the sake of 
the metaphor. Mayn’t I talk about ‘the busy bee’ 
and ‘the shining hour’?” 

“For pity’s sake, don’t get flowery!” snapped 
Morvyth. 

“ * How doth the little busy bee 
Delight to bark and bite ; 

She gathers honey all the day, 

And eats it up at night ! * ” 

misquoted Aveline with a giggle. 

“Stop frivolling, and let me get to my point!” 
commanded Raymonde. “For the third time, let 
me remind you that it is the Bumble’s birthday on 
Friday, and that it’s only decent and seemly and 
becoming that the school should do something to 
celebrate so joyous an occasion.” 

“Stop a minute!” interrupted Katherine. “Are 
we rejoicing that she came into this world to 
gladden us, or are we counting one more year off 
towards the time when we’ll have done with her? 
I’m not quite clear which.” 

“Whichever you like, so long as you look con- 
gratulatory and happy-in-our-school-days and love- 
our-teachers, and all the rest of it. What you 


On the River 


*77 


want is to spread the butter on thick, then, when 
there’s an atmosphere of smiles, ask for a holiday 
and suggest the river. Yes, my children, I said 
the river. You didn’t misunderstand me; I speak 
quite clearly.” 

“Whew! She’ll never let us! Might as well 
ask for the moon. Why, our river expedition was 
knocked off after that little business of the Zepp 
scare!” 

“All the more reason why we should have it 
now.” 

“ Ray, you’re the limit!” 

“ Hope I am, if it means getting what we want. 
I propose a deputation to the Bumble, to state 
that the gratitude and devotion of the hive can only 
work itself off on water. Yes, Ardiune Coleman- 
Smith, I did say ‘ the hive ’, my sense of poetry 
being more highly developed than my love of exact 
science. You needn’t lift your eyebrows, it’s not 
a pretty habit.” 

“Who’s going to make the deputation?” asked 
Fauvette. 

“You, for one. You’re our strongest point. 
You look naturally affectionate and clinging and 
docile, and ready-to-be-taught-if-taken-the-right- 
way, and easily led, and all the rest of it. You’ll 
burble forth something pretty about wanting to 
have an expedition with our Principal in our midst, 
and mention what a wet day it was last year, and 
how disappointed we all were.” 

“ Look here, I’m not going to do all the talking, 
so don’t think!” 

“Oh, we’ll support you! But I’m just giving 
you a few leading lines to work upon. We’ll take 

(0 887 ) 12 


178 The Madcap of the School 

Maudie Heywood with us; she got ninety-five 
marks out of a hundred last week, which ought 
to go for something !” 

“Then Magsie and Muriel had better come too. 
It won’t do to let the Bumble think the whole idea 
has originated with us.” 

“Right you are! The more pattern pupils we 
can scrape together, the better.” 

At five o’clock the deputation presented itself at 
the door of the study, and was received graciously 
by the Principal, though she declined to commit 
herself to an immediate answer, promising to think 
the matter over and to let them know later on. 

“Which means she daren’t say ‘yes’ till she’s 
asked leave from Gibbie!” declared Raymonde, 
when the delegates were out of ear-shot of the 
sanctum. “ Fauvette, child, you did splendidly! 
I’d give five thousand pounds to have your big, 
pathetic, innocent blue eyes! They always bowl 
everybody over. I envy you at your first grown-up 
dance. You’ll have your programme full in five 
minutes, like the heroine of a novel.” 

Raymonde’s supposition was not altogether mis- 
taken, for that evening, after the school had gone 
to bed, Miss Beasley, Miss Gibbs, and Made- 
moiselle sat up talking over the proposed expe- 
dition. Miss Gibbs vetoed the idea entirely. 

“ The girls have not been behaving well enough 
to justify any such indulgence,” she maintained im- 
pressively. “ Their conduct on the stairs yesterday 
was disgraceful. Better make them stick to their 
lessons.” 

Mademoiselle, whose mental scales always tipped 
naturally towards the side of pleasure, thought it 


On the River 


179 


was a beautiful idea of the dear girls to want to 
give their headmistress a fete on her anniversary. 
So sweet to go upon the water, and while the 
weather was so pleasant! It would be an event to 
be remembered for ever in their young lives, when 
sterner lessons might be forgotten; at which remark 
Miss Gibbs sniffed, but restrained herself. Miss 
Beasley vibrated for some minutes between the 
practical and the ideal aspects thus presented to 
her, but finally decided in favour of the latter. 

“It seems ungracious to refuse when they wish 
it to be my birthday treat,” she said rather apolo- 
getically. “The poor children would be so disap- 
pointed. We might make a clear mark-book a 
necessary condition.” 

“Yes,” Miss Gibbs grudgingly conceded. 
“They’ll miss their Latin preparation that even- 
ing,” she added. 

“And their French,” sighed Mademoiselle. 
“ But what will you?” with a little shrug. “ It is 
not every day that our Principal makes a birthday! 
As for me, I am glad I bought my new sunshade.” 

The announcement of the forthcoming water 
excursion was received with great rejoicings. Ever 
since the beginning of the term the school had 
thirsted to go upon the river. They had been 
taken for an occasional walk along its banks, and 
had greatly envied the young men and maidens 
who might be seen punting up its willowy reaches. 

“ That’s what I’m going to do directly I’m grown 
up!” Fauvette had confided to her chums. “I’ll 
buy a white boating costume, exactly like that girl’s 
with the auburn hair, and lean against blue cushions 
while he rows. He’ll have to have brown eyes, 


180 The Madcap of the School 

but I’ve not quite decided yet whether he shall have 
a moustache or not. On the whole I think I’ll have 
him clean shaven.” 

“ And tall,” prompted Raymonde, to whom Fau- 
vette’s prospective romances were a source of per- 
ennial interest. 

“ Yes, tall, of course, with several military crosses. 
He’s the one I’m going to like the best, though 
there’ll be others. They’ll all want me to go and 
row with them — but I shan’t. I don’t mean to flirt.” 

“ N — no ! ” conceded Raymonde a little dubiously. 
u Don’t you think, though, it might be rather good 
for him not to let him see you were too keen? Of 
course I don’t want you to break his heart, but ” 

Fauvette shook her yellow curls. 

“ It’s not right to trifle with people’s hearts,” she 
decided, with all the authority of an experienced 
reader of magazine stories. “ If you pretend you 
don’t care for them, they drive their aeroplanes reck- 
lessly and smash up, or expose themselves to the 
enemy’s fire, or get submarined, before you’ve had 
time to tell them you didn’t really mean to be cold. 
I’m not going in for misunderstandings.” 

Raymonde glanced at her admiringly. With 
those blue eyes and fluffy curls it all seemed so 
possible. She felt that she should look forward to 
her chum’s inevitable engagement almost as much 
as Fauvette herself. It would be as good as a 
Shakespeare play, or one of the best pieces on the 
kinema. But these rosy prospects were still in the 
dim and distant future; the present was entirely 
prosaic and unromantic. Whatever punting excur- 
sions Fauvette might enjoy in years to come, this 
particular water party would be quite unsentimental, 


On the River 


181 


conducted under the watchful eyes of Miss Beasley 
and Miss Gibbs, with boatmen well over military 
age to do the rowing. For the first time for four 
years the Principal’s birthday morning was glori- 
ously fine. The pupils placed the usual bouquet 
of flowers opposite her seat at the breakfast table, 
together with a handsomely bound volume of Rus- 
kin’s Stones of Venice . She thanked them with her 
customary surprise and gratitude, and assured them, 
as she did annually, what a pleasure it was to her 
to receive so kind a token of their esteem. 

This preliminary business being over, breakfast 
and classes proceeded as usual, a more than ordinary 
atmosphere of decorum pervading the establish- 
ment, for Miss Gibbs had announced that the after- 
noon’s excursion depended upon the mark-book, 
and the girls knew that she would keep her word. 
The veriest slackers paid attention to lessons that 
morning, and even Raymonde for once did not 
receive an order mark. 

Lunch was served early, and directly the meal 
was finished all the girls flew upstairs to change 
their attire. During hot weather the school was 
not kept strictly to the brown serge uniform, and 
the girls blossomed out into linen costumes, or 
white drill skirts and muslin blouses. For the 
credit of the Grange they made careful toilettes that 
afternoon; Fauvette in particular looked ravishingly 
pretty in a pale-blue sailor suit with a white collar 
and silk tie. She made quite a sensation as she 
came down the stairs. 

The mistresses had also turned out suitably 
dressed for the occasion : Miss Beasley was dignified 
and matronly in blue voile with a motor veil; Miss 


182 The Madcap of the School 

Gibbs, who intended to row, was in practical blouse 
and short skirt; while Mademoiselle was a dream 
of white muslin, chiffon ruffles, and pink parasol. 

It was about half an hour’s walk to the river, 
down shady lanes and across lately cleared hay- 
fields. There was a little landing-place close to 
the weir, with a boat-house, a refreshment room, 
and rows of benches and tables under the trees, 
where visitors could sit and drink tea or lemonade. 
Miss Beasley had engaged boats beforehand, and 
these were drawn up ready, with their boatmen, 
a rheumatic and elderly set, waiting about smoking 
surreptitious pipes among the willows. There was 
a great deal of arranging before everybody was 
settled, and many injunctions to sit still, and not 
to change places, or to grab at water-lilies, or lean 
too far over the side, or play any other foolish or 
dangerous prank likely to upset the equilibrium of 
the boat and endanger the lives of its occupants. 
At last, however, the whole party was stowed safely 
away, and the little procession set off up the river. 

All agreed that it was quite delightful. The 
banks were covered with trees, and tall reeds, and 
masses of purple willow herb, and agrimony, and 
yellow ragwort, which were reflected in the dark 
waters of quiet pools. In the centre the sunshine 
made little gleaming, glinting ripples like leaping 
bars of gold, and here and there patches of water- 
lilies spread their white chalices open to the sky. 
There was a delicious breeze, most grateful after 
the hot walk across the hay-fields, and the smooth 
gliding motion was ideal. The girls trailed their 
hands in the river, and dabbed their faces, and said 
it was topping, and began to sing boat songs which 


On the River 


183 


they had learnt at school, and which sounded very 
pretty and appropriate to an accompaniment of oars 
and lapping water. 

The great event of the afternoon was to be a pic- 
nic tea. Hampers of provisions had been brought, 
and Miss Beasley proposed that they should land 
at one of the numerous little islands, light a fire, 
and boil their big kettles. The selection of the par- 
ticular island was, of course, in her discretion, and 
she had a conference with her old boatman on the 
subject. 

“ Island? I knows of the very one to suit you. 
I’ve taken parties there before, and there’s a good 
spot to land, and a place to tie the boats to, which 
there isn’t on every one of them islands. It’s just 
an hour’s row up from the weir, and less time to go 
back because of the current.” 

After gliding onward for what seemed to the 
girls all too short a space of time, but no doubt 
appeared considerably longer to their rheumatic 
rowers, the island in question was at last reached. 
It looked most attractive with the willows and bul- 
rushes and tangly interior. A tree-stump made 
quite a good landing-place, and everyone managed 
to scramble out successfully without planting a foot 
in the water. The first business was to explore, 
and to hunt up sufficient wood for a camp fire. 
Luckily the weather had been dry, so that all avail- 
able sticks would be suitable for fuel. The girls 
dispersed in various directions, on the understand- 
ing that they were to reassemble when Miss Beasley 
blew her whistle as a signal. 

“ I call this a great stunt!” observed Morvyth, as 
the Mystic Seven moved off in company. 


184 The Madcap of the School 

“Even Gibbie’s in spirits, bless her!” murmured 
Aveline fatuously. 

“ So she is. But all the same, I’d rather wander 
off alone than be tied to her apron-strings; so come 
along, quick! Remember you’re to earn your living 
by picking up sticks, so don’t slack!” 

“Cheero, old sport! Don’t get raggy!” 

Pioneers were penetrating the virgin forest on all 
sides. From right and left came squeals, giggles, 
or chuckles, as the girls investigated the capacities 
of the island. Some kept to the banks and cut dry 
reeds to make the bonfire burn quickly, while others 
were in quest of more solid fuel. 

“ If we’d only had a hatchet or a saw,” sighed 
Raymonde, “we might have cut off some quite 
nice logs. There really isn’t much to pick up on 
the ground.” 

“Wish we could take that rotten tree along with 
us,” murmured Morvyth, pointing to a decayed 
old stump that stood upright with two withered 
boughs like scraggy arms outstretched on either 
side of it. 

“Too big a job, my child; but we might break 
off one of those branches,” opined Raymonde. 
“ No, I know we can’t reach it from below, that’s 
self-evident. Your humble servant’s going to 
climb. Here, Ave, you bluebottle, give me a 
leg up!” 

“Oh! Suppose it topples over with you ! Don’t, 
Ray!” 

“ Bunkum! It won’t! I’m not scared, thanks!” 

As a matter of fact, Raymonde knew perfectly 
well that she was going to perform rather a risky 
feat. She did it because she was in a don’t-care 


On the River 


185 


frame of mind, also because she had quarrelled 
with Morvyth earlier in the afternoon, and wished 
to astonish her. Morvyth was standing now, ele- 
vating her eyebrows, and looking as if she did not 
believe that Raymonde would really carry out her 
boast, which was all the more reason for the latter 
to put speech into action. 

Aveline obediently rendered the required assis- 
tance, and with a swing and a clutch Raymonde 
managed to scramble up the trunk to the place 
where the boughs forked. One of these was in a 
particularly crumbling and decrepit condition, and 
she thought that with a strong effort she might 
succeed in breaking it off. It was not an easy 
matter to balance herself on the fork and stretch 
out to pull at the branch. 

“You’ll be over in a sec.!” called Morvyth. 

“ Bow-wow!” responded Raymonde airily. 

She leaned a little farther along, seized the branch 
with both hands, and gave a mighty tug. The 
result was more than she anticipated. The poor 
old tree had reached a stage of such interior decay 
that it was really only kept together by the bark. 
The violence of the wrench upset it to its founda- 
tions; it tottered, swayed, and suddenly descended. 
The girls picked up Raymonde out of a cloud of 
dust and a mass of touchwood. By all strict rules 
of retribution she ought to have been hurt, but as 
a matter of fact she was only a little bruised, con- 
siderably choked with pulverized wood, and very 
much astonished. When she recovered her pres- 
ence of mind, she set to work to break off pieces 
from the boughs, which were just exactly what was 
wanted for the bonfire fuel. 


1 86 The Madcap of the School 

“ Don’t tell Gibbie!” she besought the others. 

“ Righto! Mum’s the word!” her chums assured 
her. “ Bless its little heart, we wouldn’t get it into 
a scrape! Don’t think it of us!” 

Miss Beasley’s signal sounded at this critical 
moment, so the Mystic Seven filed off like vestal 
virgins to feed the fire which Miss Gibbs, with her 
accustomed energy, had already lighted. Their 
contribution of wood was so substantial that it 
drew comment from the rest of the party, but they 
received the congratulations with due modesty, and 
did not divulge the source of their supply. Most 
of the girls were too much interested in proclaiming 
their own adventures to care to listen to anybody 
else’s, and the mistresses were busy watching the 
kettles. It seemed like camp life over again to be 
sitting in a circle, drinking tea out of enamelled 
mugs, and eating thick pieces of bread and butter. 
Miss Beasley had provided a large home-made 
plum birthday cake, with a sixpence baked in it, 
the acquisition of which was naturally a matter of 
keen interest to each several girl, until the lucky 
slice fell to the lot of Cynthia Greene, who fondled 
the coveted coin tenderly. 

“ I’ll have a hole bored through it, and wear it 
on my chain always, in memory of you, dear Miss 
Beasley!” she declared in emphatic tones. 

“Little sycophant!” sneered Morvyth enviously. 

“She ought to give it to the soldiers!” snapped 
Raymonde. 

But Miss Gibbs was rattling a row of mugs to- 
gether as a delicate hint that the feast was finished, 
and the Principal was consulting her watch, and 
calling to the boatmen to make ready. The moni- 


On the River 


187 


tresses swept all remaining comestibles into the 
baskets, stamped out the fire, emptied the kettles, 
and proclaimed the camping-ground left in due 
order. One by one the boats started on their way 
down the river, drifting easily now with the cur- 
rent, and leaving long trails of ripples behind 
them. The sun was sinking low in the west, and 
there was a lovely golden light on the water, the 
shadows on the willowy shore were deep and mys- 
terious, a kingfisher flashed along the bank like a 
living jewel. The spirits of the school, already 
risen to fermenting point, effervesced into stunt 
songs composed on the emergency of the moment, 
and passed on from boat to boat. 

“For we ’ve had such a jolly good day-ay-ay, 

As we only get once in a way-ay-ay 1 
I can tell you it was prime, 

Oh! we’ve had a topping time, 

And we wish a little longer we could stay-ay-ay! 
With a rum-tum-tum 
And a rum-tiddley-um, 

We will make the river hum; 

So come, come, come, 

Don’t be glum, glum, glum! 

But pass the stunt along and just be gay-ay-ay!” 


CHAPTER XVI 

Marooned 

Amongst other cardinal virtues the practice of 
philanthropy was zealously cultivated at Marlowe 
Grange. The girls made garments for the local 
hospital, contributed towards a cr&che for soldiers’ 
children, and on Sunday mornings put pennies 
into a missionary box. Charity is apt to wax a 
trifle cold, however, when you never see the object 
of your doles; and though ample statistics were 
provided about the creche babies, and literature 
was sent describing the Chinese orphans and little 
Hindoo widows, these pieces of paper information 
did not quite supply the place of a real live protege. 
It was felt to be a decided asset to the school when 
old Wilkinson loomed upon their horizon. The 
girls discovered him accidentally, engaged in the 
meritorious occupation of carrying his own water 
from the well. He had opened a gate for them, 
and had touched his forelock with the grace and 
fervour of a mediaeval retainer. His pink cheeks, 
watery blue eyes, snow-white hair, and generally 
picturesque personality made the more enthusiastic 
members of the art class anxious to paint his 
portrait. It was ascertained that he subsisted upon 
an old-age pension of five shillings a week, and 
188 


Marooned 


189 

resided in a romantic - looking, creeper - covered 
cottage just between the Grange and the village. 
To visit old Wilkinson, and present him with 
potatoes from their own little war-gardens, became 
an immediate institution among the girls. There 
was no doubt about his gratitude. All was fish 
that came to his net, and he accepted anything 
and everything, from tea and tobacco to books 
which he could not read, with the same toothless 
smile and showers of blessings. If, as Miss Gibbs 
suggested, his cottage would have been improved 
by a little more soap and water, and a good stiff 
broom, that did not really matter, as he was gene- 
rally sitting outside on a bench beside a beehive, 
with a black-and-white Manx cat upon his knee, 
and a tame jackdaw hanging in a wicker cage by 
the window, exactly like a coloured frontispiece in 
a Christmas number of a magazine. 

It was a tremendous blow to the school when the 
news was circulated that old Wilkinson had received 
notice to quit his cottage. The girls were filled 
with indignation against his landlord. The fact 
that that long-suffering farmer had received no 
rent for the last six months, and badly required the 
cottage as a billet for lady workers on the land, 
went for nothing in the estimation of the Grange 
inmates. Wilkinson, so they considered, was a 
persecuted old man, about to be evicted from his 
home, and a very proper object for sympathy and 
consideration. 

‘ i Something’s got to be done for him — that’s 
flat!” declared Raymonde. “You don’t suppose 
we can allow him to be taken to the workhouse? 
It’s unthinkable! He’d break his poor old heart. 


i9o The Madcap of the School 

And we’d miss him so, too. Won’t the landlord 
change his mind and let him stay?” 

“ Miss Gibbs went to see him about it,” vouch- 
safed Aveline agitatedly, “and she came back and 
shook her head, and said she couldn’t but feel that 
the man was only doing his duty, and women were 
wanted on the land, and must have a place to live 
in, and someone had to be sacrificed.” 

“He’s a victim of the war!” sighed Morvyth. 
“One of those outside victims who don’t get Victoria 
Crosses and military funerals.” 

“ He hasn’t come to a funeral yet!” bristled Ray- 
monde. “The old boy looks good for another ten 
years or so. Don’t you go ordering tombstones 
and wreaths!” 

“ I wasn’t going to. How you snap me up! All 
the same, I heard Miss Beasley tell Miss Gibbs 
that if he has to go to the workhouse it will be 
enough to kill him.” 

“Then we’ve absolutely got to keep him alive! 
Won’t anybody in the village take him in?” 

“ No, they’re all full up, and say they can’t do 
with him, and he hasn’t any relations of his own 
except a drunken granddaughter in a town slum.” 

Raymonde sighed dramatically. 

“ I’m going to think, and think, and think, and 
think, until I find some way of helping him,” she 
announced. “It’ll be hard work, because I hate 
thinking, but I’ll do it, you’ll see!” 

Raymonde was abstracted that evening, both at 
preparation and at supper. In the dormitory she 
put aside all conversation with a firm: “Don’t 
talk to me, I’m thinking!” She borrowed Fau- 
vette’s bottle of eau-de-Cologne, and went to bed 


Marooned 


* 9 * 

with a bandage tied round her head to assist her 
cogitations. 

“Of course I shan’t go to sleep,” she assured 
the others. “ I must just lie awake until the 
idea comes to me. Old Wilkinson’s on my 
mind.” 

“Glad he’s not on mine,” gurgled Aveline, 
settling herself comfortably on her pillow. ‘ { Couldn’t 
you leave him until to-morrow?” 

“Certainly not! I shall wake you up and tell 
you when my idea arrives.” 

“Help!” murmured her schoolmate, half-asleep. 

That night, when the whole household at the 
Grange was soundly wrapped in slumber, Aveline 
was suddenly brought back from a jumbled dream 
of punts, cows, and Latin exercises by feeling some- 
body shaking her persistently and urgently. 

“ What’s the matter?” she asked, sitting up in 
bed. “Is it Zepps?” 

“Sh — sh! Don’t wake the whole dormitory, 
you goose!” came Raymonde’s voice in a whisper. 
“ Remember Gibbie’s door’s wide open, can’t you? 
I’ve just got my idea.” 

Aveline promptly lay down again and closed her 
eyes. 

“Won’t it keep till to-morrow?” she murmured. 

“Certainly not! You’ve got to hear it now. 
Move further on — I’m coming into bed with you. 
That’s better!” 

“ But I’m so sleepy,” — rather crossly. 

“ Don’t be horrid ! You might wake up for once, 
and listen !” 

“ I am listening.” 

“Well, I’ll tell you, then. I said to myself when 


192 The Madcap of the School 

I began to think: ‘ What’s wanted is a home for 
old Wilkinson!’ and just now it suddenly flashed 
into my head: ‘We’ll make him one for our- 
selves!”’ 

“Where?” 

“That’s the point. The Bumble says she can’t 
have him at the Grange — Hermie suggested that — 
and every place one knows of seems to belong to 
somebody who wants it — all except the island ! ” 

“What island? The one on the river?” 

“No, no! Not so far as that. The island on 
our moat, I mean. We’ll build a little house for 
him, and he can have it all for his very own.” 

“Wouldn’t it — wouldn’t it be rather difficult to 
build?” gasped Aveline, dazed at the magnitude of 
her chum’s idea. 

“Oh, not impossible! There are heaps and 
heaps of railway sleepers down in the wood heap, 
and we could pile them up into a hut. It’s only 
what people do out in Canada. Gibbie’s always 
telling us tales of women who emigrate to the back- 
woods, and build colonies of log-cabins. Ave, 
you’re not going to sleep again, are you?” 

“N — no!” came a rather languid voice; “but 
how’ll we ever get to the island?” 

“ We’ll make a raft. We’ll do it to-morrow, you 
and I. Don’t tell any of the others yet. Morvyth’s 
been so nasty lately, I’m fed up with her, and 
Ardiune would only laugh. When we’ve got the 
thing really started, we’ll take them over and let 
them help, but not till then. Will you promise to 
keep it an absolute secret?” 

“ I’ll promise anything you like” — wearily — “if 
you’ll only go back to your own bed.” 


Marooned 


193 

“All right, I’m off now — but just remember 
you’re not to mention it to a single soul.” 

Raymonde, next day, was tremendously full of 
her new scheme. It savoured of romance. Old 
Wilkinson would be a combination of a mediaeval 
hermit and Robinson Crusoe, and in imagination 
she already saw him installed in a picturesque log- 
cabin, with his Manx cat and his tame jackdaw for 
company. Naturally the first step was to take 
possession of the island. It lay in the middle of 
the moat, a reedy little domain covered with willows 
and bushes. It had never yet been explored by 
the school, for the simple reason that there had 
been no means of gaining access to it. The water 
was too deep for wading, and Miss Beasley had 
utterly vetoed the suggestion of procuring a punt. 
Raymonde had cast longing eyes at it many times 
before, but not until now had she made any real 
effort to reach it. She thought out her plans care- 
fully during the day — considerably to the detriment 
of her lessons — and when afternoon recreation time 
came round she linked Aveline’s arm firmly in hers, 
and led her to the lumber yard. Here, piled up 
behind the barn, was a large stack of wood stored 
for fuel — old railway sleepers, bits of broken 
fencing, packing-cases, tumbled-down trees, and 
brushwood. 

“What we want to make first,” she announced, 
“ is a raft. I wonder it never struck me to make it 
before!” 

Now rafts sound quite simple and easy when you 
read about them in books of adventure. Ship- 
wrecked mariners on coral islands in the Pacific 
always lash a few logs together with incredible 

(0 887 ) 13 


194 The Madcap of the School 

speed, and perform wonderful journeys through 
boiling surf to rescue kegs of provisions and other 
useful commodities which they observe floating 
about on the waves. The waters of the moat, being 
tranquil, and overgrown with duckweed, would 
surely prove more hospitable than the surging 
ocean, and ought to support a raft, of however 
amateur a description. Nevertheless, when they 
began to look round, it was more difficult than they 
had expected to find just the right material. The 
railway sleepers were too large and heavy, and 
the fence poles were of unequal lengths. More- 
over, there was nothing with which to lash them 
together, for when Raymonde visited the orchard, 
intending to purloin a clothes-line, she found the 
housemaid there, hanging up a row of pantry towels, 
and was obliged to beat a hurried retreat. After 
much hunting about, the girls at last discovered 
in a corner exactly what they wanted. It was the 
door of a demolished shed, made of stout planking, 
strongly nailed and braced, and in fairly sound 
condition. Nothing could have been better for 
their purpose. After first doing a little scouting, 
to make sure that the rest of the school were safely 
at the other side of the garden, they dragged it 
down to the edge of the moat, returning to fetch 
two small saplings to act as punt-poles. 

“ For goodness’ sake, let’s be quick and get off 
before anybody comes round and catches us!” 
panted Raymonde. 

“Are you absolutely certain it’s safe?” quavered 
Aveline dubiously. 

Raymonde looked at her scornfully. 

“Aveline Kerby, if you don’t feel yourself up to 


Marooned 


195 


this business, please back out of it at once, and I’ll 
go and fetch Morvyth instead. She may be a 
blighter in some things, but she doesn’t funk!” 

“No more do I,” declared Aveline, suddenly 
assuming an air of dignified abandon, reminiscent 
of the heroes of coral-island stories. “I’m ready 
to brave anything, especially for the sake of old 
Wilkinson. Don’t tip the thing so hard at you* 
end! You’ve made me trap my fingers!” 

They launched their craft from the water-garden, 
treading ruthlessly on Linda’s irises and Hermie’s 
cherished forget-me-nots. It seemed to float all 
right, so they crawled on, and squatted on the 
cross-beams on either side of it to preserve its 
balance. A good push with their poles sent them 
well out on to the moat. It was really a delightful 
sensation sailing amongst the duckweed and arrow- 
head leaves, although their shoes and skirts got wet 
from the water which oozed up between the planks. 
The raft behaved splendidly, and, propelled by the 
poles, made quite a steady passage. They had 
soon crossed the piece of water, and scrambled 
out upon the island. It was a rather overgrown, 
brambly little domain, and to penetrate its fast- 
nesses proved a scratchy performance, resulting in 
a long rent down the front of Raymonde’s skirt, 
and several tears in Aveline’s muslin blouse, to say 
nothing of wounds on wrists and ankles. There 
was quite a clearing in the middle, with soft, mossy 
grass and clumps of hemp agrimony, and actually 
a small apple-tree with nine apples upon it. They 
were green and very sour, but the girls each 
sampled one, with a kind of feeling that by so 
doing they were taking formal possession of the 


196 The Madcap of the School 

territory, though, with Paradise for an analogy, it 
should have been just the reverse. 

“ We’ll have the log-cabin exactly here,” said 
Raymonde, munching abstractedly. “ It’ll face 
the sunset, and he can sit and watch the glowing 
west, and hear the evening bells, and — and ” 

“ Smoke his pipe,” suggested Aveline unroman- 
tically. “ He generally seems most grateful of all 
when one gives him tobacco.” 

‘ ‘We shall be able to see him sitting there,’ 
continued Raymonde, in her most meditative mood. 
“There’ll be a rose-tree planted beside the door, 
and nasturtiums and other thingumbobs for the 
bees. It’ll make a beautiful end to his declining 
years.” 

“Yes,” agreed Aveline, suppressing a yawn. 
She was not so enthusiastic over the scheme as her 
chum, and her apple had been much too sour to be 
really enjoyed. Raymonde sat twining pieces of 
grass round her finger; her eyes were dreamy, and 
she hummed “Those Evening Bells”, which the 
singing class had learnt only the week before. 

At that identical moment the clang of a very 
different bell disturbed the echoes. The girls 
sprang to their feet. 

“ Prep. !” they gasped in consternation. 

They had absolutely no idea it was so late. 
Time had simply flown. They must get back 
immediately, and even then might expect to lose 
order marks. Regardless of scratches, they scurried 
through the brambles to the place where they had 
left their raft. To their horror it was gone! They 
had forgotten to anchor it, and it had floated out 
into the middle of the moat. 


Marooned 


197 

This was indeed a predicament! They looked at 
each other aghast. 

“We’re marooned, that’s what it is!” stammered 
Aveline. “ Raymonde, you’re the silliest idiot I’ve 
ever met in the course of my life!” 

“Well, I like that!” 

“Can’t help it — it’s the truth! Whatever did 
you bring me out here for, on such a wild-goose 
chase?” 

“Why, you wanted to come!” 

“I didn’t! You’ve landed me in a horrible 
scrape. I’ve been late for prep, twice already this 
week, and Gibbie gave me enough jaw-wag last 
time, so what she’ll say this time, goodness knows! 
How are we ever going to get back?” 

Raymonde shook her head and whistled. She 
might have attempted to defend herself, but Aveline 
by this time had begun to sob hysterically, and she 
knew that arguments were useless. The prospects 
of immediate rescue certainly appeared doubtful. 
Everyone would be indoors for preparation. No 
doubt they would be missed, and probably a moni- 
tress might be sent in quest of them, but the house 
would be searched first, and then the barns and 
garden ; and it was quite problematical whether it 
would enter into anybody’s head to walk to the 
edge of the moat, and look across towards the 
island. 

“I suppose you can’t swim?” asked Aveline, 
choking back her sobs, and dabbing her eyes with 
her handkerchief. 

“No; only a little bit when somebody holds me 
up. Whoever would have thought of that wretched 
raft floating off in that fashion? It’s too sickening!” 


198 The Madcap of the School 

“ Don’t you think we’d better give a good shout?” 

The girls put their united lung power into the 
loudest halloo of which they were capable, but it 
only scared a blackbird in the orchard, and pro- 
voked no human response. They sat down in a 
place where they could be best seen from the main- 
land, and waited. There were too many brambles 
for comfort, and the midges were biting badly. 
Raymonde began to wonder whether, after all, the 
island were as ideal a situation for a residence as 
she had supposed. Some lines from a parody on 
one of Rogers’s poems flashed into her mind: 

“ So damp my cot beside the rill, 

The beehive fails to soothe my ear”; 

and 

“Around my ivy-covered porch 
Earwigs and snails are ever crawling ”. 

“It mightn’t be just the best place in the world 
for rheumatism,” she decided, “and probably there’d 
be just heaps of snails and slugs.” 

“Shall we shout again?” suggested Aveline for- 
lornly. 

The chums called, whistled, halloed, and cooeed 
until they were hoarse, but not a soul took the 
slightest notice. Time, which had sped so rapidly 
during their first twenty minutes on the island, 
now crawled on laggard wings. After what ap- 
peared to them an absolutely interminable period, 
but which was in reality about an hour and a half, 
the familiar figure of Hermie Graveson suddenly 
appeared on the mainland close to the water- 
garden. Raymonde and Aveline started up, and 
emitted yells that would have done credit to a pair 


Marooned 


199 


of Zulu warriors on the war-path. Hermie waved 
frantically, shouted something they could not hear, 
and ran back towards the house. In a few minutes 
she returned with Miss Gibbs. That worthy lady 
picked up her skirts and advanced gingerly to the 
extreme limit of the stones that bordered the water- 
garden. She put her hands to her mouth to form 
a speaking-trumpet, and bawled a communication 
of which the marooned ones could only catch such 
fragments as “ How . . . get . . . doing . . .” 

On the presumption that it was an enquiry into 
their means of locomotion, they pointed sadly to 
the floating raft. Miss Beasley now came hurry- 
ing up, surveyed the situation, and also attempted 
to converse, but with no better success. After an 
agitated colloquy with Miss Gibbs she retired. 

“ D’you think they’ll have to leave us here for the 
night?” fluttered Aveline anxiously. 

“ Don’t know. It looks like it, unless anyone 
can swim!” returned Raymonde, with what stoicism 
she could muster. 

“ Perhaps they’ll hire a cart to the river, and fetch 
up a punt?” 

“ It’ll take hours to do that!” 

The prospect of supper and bed seemed to be 
retreating further and further into the dim and far- 
away distance. Aveline remembered that it was 
the evening for stewed pears and custard, and tears 
dripped down her cheeks on to her torn blouse. 

“Oh! brace up, can’t you?” snapped Raymonde. 
“ It gives me spasms to hear you sniff!” 

Aveline was bursting into an indignant retort, 
when her companion nudged her and pointed to 
the mainland. 


200 


The Madcap of the School 

Mackenzie, the old gardener, was coming across 
the orchard carrying on his shoulder a very large 
wash-tub. The cook followed him, bearing a 
clothes-prop. 

“They’ve the best brains in the house! He’s 
going to rescue us!” exclaimed Raymonde ecstati- 
cally. 

The prisoners on the island watched with deep 
interest while Mackenzie launched his shallop, 
clambered in, and seizing the clothes-prop from 
Cook, pushed off cautiously. His craft was very 
low in the water and looked particularly wobbly, 
and they were terribly afraid it would upset. In 
spite of their anxiety they could not help seeing 
the humorous side of the episode, and they choked 
with laughter as the tub gyrated and bobbed about, 
and the old man clutched frantically at his pole. 
He made first of all for the floating raft, secured it 
with a piece of rope, and dragged it to the island. 
The girls straightened their faces and welcomed 
him with polite expressions of gratitude. 

He received their thanks ungraciously — perhaps 
he had seen them laughing — pushed the raft to a 
spot where they could board it, and remarked 
tartly : 

“Ye deserve to stop where ye are the night, in 
my opeenion. Get on with ye now, and paddle 
yerselves back. Giving a body all this trouble — 
and me with my leg bad, too!” 

It was possibly a satisfaction to Mackenzie that 
Miss Beasley shared his views as to the culpability 
of the delinquents and the necessity of giving them 
their deserts. They were summoned to the study 
after prayers. 


Marooned 


201 


“What did she say?” whispered Ardiune, Mor- 
vyth, and Katherine, as they escorted the crestfallen 
pair upstairs to the dormitory. 

“All recreation stopped for three days, and learn 
the whole of Gray’s Elegy!” choked the sinners. 

“Gray’s Elegy! You’ll never do it! Oh, you 
poor chickens ! The Bumble can be a perfect beast 
sometimes! I say, what was it like on the island?” 

“Top-hole!” responded Raymonde, as she 
mopped her eyes. 

The very next day came the news that the farmer 
had decided to run up a number of corrugated-iron 
hutments in one of his own fields to accommodate 
his lady workers, and that the Squire had promised 
to pay the rent of old Wilkinson’s cottage so long 
as he was left there undisturbed. Everybody felt 
it was a happy solution of the difficulty. 

“After all, the island might have been rather 
an awkward place for him,” admitted Raymonde. 
“I don’t know how he’d have got backwards and 
forwards without a drawbridge.” 

“Unless he’d used a wash-tub,” giggled Aveline. 
“ I shan’t forget Mackenzie in a hurry! It was the 
funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Talk of 
people looking sour! He might have been eating 
sloes. Cook’s taken it personally, I’m afraid. I 
asked her for some whitening this morning to 
clean my regimental button, and she scowled and 
wouldn’t let me have any — nasty, stingy old thing!” 

“It’s a weary world!” sighed Raymonde. “Espe- 
cially when you’ve got to learn the whole of Gray’s 
Elegy by heart!” 


CHAPTER XVII 

The Fossil Hunters 


If Miss Beasley had been asked what was her most 
difficult problem in the management of her school, 
she would probably have replied the arrangement 
of the practising time-table. With the exception 
of four, all the girls learned music, and therefore, 
for a period of forty-five minutes daily, each of these 
twenty-two pupils must do execution on the piano. 
There were five instruments at the Grange, and, 
except during the hours of morning lessons and 
meals, they hardly ever seemed to be silent. At 
seven o’clock they began with scales, arpeggios, 
and studies, and passed during the day through 
a selection of pieces, classical and modern, in such 
various degrees of playing, strumming, and thump- 
ing as might be calculated to wear out their hammers 
and snap their strings in double quick time. About 
half of the girls learned from Mademoiselle, and 
the remainder had lessons from Mr. Browne, a 
visiting master who came twice a week to the 
school. He was a short little man, with sandy 
hair, and a bald patch in the middle of it, and a 
Vandyke beard that was turning rather grey. He 
was himself an excellent musician, and sometimes 
the performances of his pupils offended his sensitive 


The Fossil Hunters 


203 


ear to the point of exasperation, and he would 
storm at them in a gurgling voice, blinking his 
short-sighted hazel eyes very rapidly, and wrinkling 
up his forehead till it looked like squeezed india- 
rubber. It was on record that he had once hit Lois 
Barlow a hard crack over the knuckles with his 
fountain-pen, whereupon she wept — not so much 
from pain as from injured feelings — and he had 
apologized in quite a gentlemanly fashion, and 
picked up the music that in his burst of temper he 
had flung upon the floor. In spite of his acknow- 
ledged irritability, all the girls who learned from 
him gave themselves airs of slight superiority over 
those who only learned from Mademoiselle. Though 
strict, he was an inspiring teacher, and when, as 
occasionally happened, he would push his pupil 
from the stool, and seat himself in her place to show 
the proper rendering of some passage, the music 
that followed was like a lovely liquid dream of 
sound. 

Professor Marshall also attended the school twice 
a week to lecture on literature and natural science. 
He was a much greater general favourite than Mr. 
Browne; everybody appreciated his affable manner 
and bland smile, and the little jokes with which he 
punctuated his remarks. 

The girls always felt that it made a change to 
have anybody coming in from the outside world. 
The one disadvantage of a boarding-school is that 
mistresses and pupils, shut up together, and seeing 
one another week in, week out, are rather apt to 
get on each others’ nerves. At a day school the 
girls take their worries home at four o’clock, and 
the mental atmosphere has time to clear before nine 


204 The Madcap of the School 

next morning; but, when there is no home-going 
until the end of the term, little trifles are sometimes 
unduly magnified, and a narrow element — the bane 
of all communities — begins to creep in. To do 
Miss Beasley justice, she made a great effort to 
combat this very evil, and to run her school on 
broad lines. She recognized the necessity of let- 
ting the girls mix sometimes with outsiders. In a 
country place it was impossible to take them to 
concerts or entertainments, but they occasionally 
joined the rambles of the County Antiquarian 
Society or the local Natural History Club. 

It occurred to Miss Beasley that it would be an 
excellent plan to throw open some of Professor 
Marshall’s lectures to residents in the neighbour- 
hood, asking those people who attended to stay to 
tea afterwards, thus giving her girls an opportunity 
of acting as hostesses, and entertaining them with 
conversation. A short course of four lectures on 
geology was announced, and quite a number of 
local ladies responded to the invitation. The girls 
received the news with mixed feelings. 

“ Rather a jink!” ventured Ardiune. “It’ll be 
queer to see rows of strangers sitting in the lecture 
room! Did you say we’ve to give them tea when 
the Professor’s done talking?” 

“Yes, and talk to them ourselves too, worse 
luck! I’m sure I shan’t know what to say!” 
fluttered Aveline. 

“Oh, the monitresses will do that part of the 
business!” decided Raymonde easily. “We’ll 
stand in the background, and just look ladylike 
and well-mannered, and all the rest of it.” 

“Will you, my child? Not if the Bumble knows 


The Fossil Hunters 


205 


it! She’s nuts on this afternoon-tea dodge! (I 
don’t care — I shan’t put a penny in the slang box — 
Hermie isn’t here to listen and make me!) Gibbie 
told me that we’re all to act hostesses in turn. 
We’re to be divided into four sets, and each take 
a time.” 

“Help! How are you going to divide twenty- 
six by four? It works out at six and a half. 
Who’s to be the half girl?” 

“Oh! They’ll make it seven on one afternoon 
and six the next, I expect.” 

“That’s not fair! It’s throwing too much work 
on those six and not enough on the seven. It’s 
opposed to all the instincts of co-operation and 
justice which Gibbie has laboured so hard to instil 
into me.” 

“ Don’t see how the Bumble can manage other- 
wise, unless she chops a girl in half. No, I predict 
you’ll be chosen among a select six, and have to 
pour out tea and hand cakes with one-sixth extra 
power laid on, and your conversation carefully 
modulated to your hearers.” 

“ Oh, Jemima!” 

“Please to remember that this is a finishing 
school !” mocked Ardiune. “ Don’t on any account 
shock the neighbourhood by an unseemly exhibition 
of vulgar slang!” 

“ It’ll slip out, I know, when I’m not thinking,” 
groaned Raymonde. 

On the first afternoon of the geological course, 
an audience of about twenty visitors augmented the 
usual gathering in the lecture hall. They were 
accommodated with the best seats, and the school 
occupied the third and fourth rows. Directly in 


206 The Madcap of the School 

front of Raymonde sat an elderly lady in a large 
black hat trimmed with cherries, which bobbed 
temptingly over the brim. She appeared to take 
an interest in her surroundings, glanced about the 
room, and turned a reproving eye on Raymonde, 
who ventured to whisper to Aveline. With Miss 
Gibbs hovering in the background with a now- 
mind-you-keep-up-the-credit-of-the-school expres- 
sion, the girls hardly dared even to blink, but 
Aveline managed to write: “What a Tartar in 
front!” on a slip of paper, and hand it to her 
chum. 

The Professor, bland as ever, was coming into 
the room and hanging a geological map over the 
blackboard. He smiled broadly, showing his large 
white teeth to the uttermost, and, after a few prelimi- 
nary remarks of welcome to the visitors, plunged 
into a description of the earth’s crust. 

All went well for a while; then an untoward 
incident happened. The lady with the cherries in 
her hat, who had possibly taken cold, or was 
affected by the pollen in the flowers upon the table, 
sneezed violently, not only once, but twice, and even 
a third time. 

“Three’s for a wedding! Is it Gibbie?” whis- 
pered Raymonde the incorrigible. 

Aveline’s mental equilibrium was always easily 
upset. The idea of Miss Gibbs in connection with 
matrimony was too much for her, and she exploded 
into a series of painfully suppressed giggles. The 
more she tried to stop, the more hysterical she grew, 
especially as her lack of self-control appeared to 
produce great agitation among the cherries on the 
black hat in front. It was only by holding her 


The Fossil Hunters 


207 

breath till she almost choked that she managed 
to avoid disgracing herself absolutely. 

As Morvyth had predicted, Raymonde was 
among the hostesses for the afternoon. She rose 
admirably to the occasion, handed round cakes and 
bread and butter, and talked sweetly to the guests 
on a variety of topics. Aveline, also one of the 
chosen, though less agile in conversation, tried to 
look “ hospitable ” and “ welcoming ”, and cultured 
and pretty-mannered and gracious, and everything 
else which might be expected from a young lady at 
a finishing-school. 

Miss Gibbs, who was keeping the deportment 
of the hostesses well under inspection, beamed 
approval, but spurred them on to fresh efforts. 

“See that nobody is neglected,” she whispered. 
“ Hand the cakes to that lady who is standing by 
the piano ; and you, Raymonde, take her the 
cream.” 

The chums had instinctively avoided the owner 
of the black hat with the cherries, but thus urged 
they were bound to fulfil their social obligations. 
They offered a selection of ginger-nuts and fancy 
biscuits, and the best silver cream-jug, and mur- 
mured some polite nothings on the hackneyed 
subject of the weather. The lady helped herself, 
and regarded them with an offended eye. 

“ I believe you’re the two girls who sat behind 
me during the lecture!” she remarked tartly. “I 
should like to say that I considered your behaviour 
disgraceful. It would serve you right if I were to 
tell your governess.” 

Overwhelmed with confusion, Raymonde and 
Aveline beat a hasty retreat. 


208 The Madcap of the School 

“Oh, dear! Does she think I was laughing at 
her?” whispered Aveline. “What must I do? 
Ought I to go and explain and apologize? I simply 
daren’t!” 

“She’s a nasty old thing!” returned Raymonde 
in an indignant undertone. “ I hope she won’t 
sneak to Gibbie! You can’t explain. I shouldn’t 
go near her.” 

“Gibbie’s working round towards the piano!” 

“No, Mrs. Horner’s stopped her.” 

Fortunately for the girls, at this moment Pro- 
fessor Marshall cleared his throat violently, and, 
obtaining by this signal a temporary respite in the 
babel of small talk, announced that on the follow- 
ing Saturday afternoon he proposed to lead a party 
to Littlewood Quarry to examine the geological 
formation there, and search for fossils. He hoped 
that all the present company would be able to 
attend, as the expedition would be of great educa- 
tional value. The general conversation in the room 
immediately turned upon geology. The black hat 
with cherries bore down upon the Professor, and its 
owner plunged into a lengthy discussion on the 
flora of the carboniferous period, so apparently 
absorbing that it left her no opportunity to lodge 
complaints as to the behaviour of the pupils. The 
chums, whose social duties were now finished, 
slipped thankfully away to prep. 

“I’m disgusted with the Professor!” groaned 
Morvyth. “It’s too bad of him to take up an- 
other of our precious Saturday afternoons with 
his geology excursion. The tennis match will be 
all off now, and I know we could have beaten 
the Sixth! I don’t want to hunt for fossils! 


The Fossil Hunters 


209 

I’m tired of continually having my mind im- 
proved!” 

“We really don’t get a fair chance for games at 
this school,” Ardiune grumbled in sympathy. “ I 
wish Gibbie were sporting instead of intellectual!” 

It was really a grievance to the girls to be obliged 
to abandon tennis on this occasion. The match 
between Sixth and Fifth had been a fixture, and 
each side had hopes of its own champions. Daphne 
and Barbara were good players, but Valentine and 
Muriel had been practising early and late, and in 
the estimation of their own Form were well in the 
running for victory. Even the juniors had looked 
forward to witnessing the combat. Valentine, in 
her disappointment, went so far as to suggest to 
Miss Gibbs that the match might claim precedence 
over the excursion. The astonished mistress gazed 
at her for a moment with blank face, then burst 
out: 

“Give up the fossil hunt in favour of tennis! 
What nonsense! You ought all to be deeply 
grateful to Professor Marshall for coming to take 
us. You girls don’t appreciate your privileges!” 

“There’s one compensation,” urged Fauvette. 
“ We shall walk through the village, and, if we 
break line a little, it will give a chance for some- 
body to dash into the shop and buy pear-drops. 
One had better do it for us all, and get a pound. 
We’ll pay up our shares, honest.” 

On the afternoon of Saturday, twenty-six rather 
apathetic geologists started forth from the Grange. 
Each carried a basket, and a few, who had scrambled 
first, had secured hammers. Miss Gibbs, armed 
with “An Illustrated Catalogue of the Fossils in 

(0 887 ) 14 


210 


The Madcap of the School 

the Bradbury Museum”, by means of which she 
hoped to identify specimens, brought up the rear, 
in company with Veronica, and the school croco- 
diled in orthodox fashion as far as the village. 
Here they were met by the Vicar’s wife and 
daughter, and several other ladies who were to 
join the excursion. The double line swayed and 
broke. Miss Gibbs’s attention became engaged by 
visitors, and, during the few minutes’ halt, Ray- 
monde, well covered by her comrades, seized the 
golden opportunity, darted into the shop, and 
emerged with a large packet hidden in her basket, 
before mistress or monitresses had had time to miss 
her. 

4 4 Paradise drops!” she announced with gleeful 
caution. “Got them because they were on the 
counter, and the quickest thing I could buy. No, 
I daren’t dole them out now. You must wait till 
we get to the quarry. Gibbie’d notice you sucking 
them, you idiots!” 

It was rather a long way to Littlewood. Much 
too far, in the girls’ opinion, though they would 
have thought nothing of the walk had they been 
keener on its object. 

“Shouldn’t have minded so much if we’d come 
on a Thursday, and missed French translation. 
Why had it to be Saturday?” groused Ardiune. 

“ Because Saturday’s the only day the men 
aren’t working in the quarry. For goodness’ sake, 
stop grumbling!” returned Hermie in her most 
monitressy manner. “ If you can’t enjoy things 
yourself, let other people have a chance, at any 
rate!” 

Duly snubbed, Ardiune subsided, and tramped 


The Fossil Hunters 


211 


on in silence, her discontent slightly alleviated by 
the prospect of Paradise drops, for Raymonde was 
rattling the basket suggestively to cheer her up. 
Extra visitors joined the party here and there upon 
the way, and outside Littlewood village the Pro- 
fessor himself was waiting for them, beaming as 
usual, and carrying a most professional - looking 
hammer, and a little bass for specimens. He 
greeted them with one of his customary jokes, and 
they smiled obediently, more out of habit than 
inclination. 

The quarry proved more exciting than they had 
anticipated. It was a large place, and to get down 
into it they were obliged to descend several steep 
ladders, leading from one platform to another. 
Arrived at the bottom level, Professor Marshall 
collected his students in a group round him, and 
delivered a lecturette upon the points to be noticed 
in the strata surrounding them. Raymonde listened 
sadly. It seemed to her an unprofitable way of 
spending a Saturday afternoon. She brightened, 
however, when the audience dispersed to commence 
practical work. 

1 * Come along !” she whispered to her chums. 
“Let’s scoot over there and begin to chop rocks! 
Quick!” 

“Where are the Paradise drops?” enquired the 
others eagerly. 

“ Don’t worry, I have them safe. Only wait till 
Gibbie’s back is turned.” 

Though they were decidedly tired of lectures, the 
girls nevertheless were quite mildly interested in 
searching for fossils. There was an element of 
competition about it which appealed to them, and 


212 The Madcap of the School 

when Hermie found a fine specimen of Cuprvsso - 
crinus crassus , the Fifth felt that they must not be 
outdone. 

“We haven’t got anything really decent yet!” 
sighed Aveline, watching with envious eyes as 
Hermie exhibited her treasure to the admiring 
visitors. “The Sixth are cackling ever so hard.” 

“ Let’s go over there,” suggested Raymonde. 
“No one’s explored that bit of the quarry. We 
might find all sorts of things.” 

The Mystic Seven, who generally clung together 
in their undertakings, scaled a ladder therefore, 
climbed a mound of refuse, and found themselves 
on new ground. They dispersed, and each searched 
to the best of her ability among the pieces of crumbly 
rock that were lying about. Aveline, absorbed in 
splitting strata with her hammer, was suddenly dis- 
turbed by a piercing yell and a shout of “ Help!” 
She ran at once in the direction of the screams, 
and round the corner discovered Raymonde, sunk 
nearly to her waist in a kind of clay bog. 

“Help me!” she implored. “I can’t get out. 
The more I try, the deeper I seem to sink ini” 

“Don’t struggle, then; wait a minute,” said 
Aveline, advancing on to some firm-looking stones 
and stretching out a hand. “Can you manage 
now?” 

Raymonde made a desperate but futile effort. 
“No, I’m stuck tight — can’t move my legs.” 

“Don’t pull me, or I’ll be in too! Now, I’m 
going to tug one of your legs out! That’s it! Now 
the other! Here you are! Good gracious! What 
a mess you’re in!” 

Arrived on firm ground, Raymonde certainly 


The Fossil Hunters 


213 


looked a deplorable object. Her feet were two 
shapeless lumps of wet clay. She regarded them 
with rueful consternation. Ardiune came running 
up, and, being of a practical turn of mind, set to 
work to scrape her friend clean with a thin piece 
of stone. She succeeded in removing the bulk of 
the matter adhering to her, but there still remained 
a most unsightly coating of mud. 

4 ‘What were you doing to get yourself in such 
a fix?” she asked. 

“ I don’t know. It looked quite solid, and then, 
when I stepped on it, I just sank in — squash! I 
might have been swallowed up in it and killed, 
if Ave hadn’t tugged me out!” 

“You look a nice object to walk home with!” 
giggled Aveline. “What’ll Gibbie say?” 

What Miss Gibbs remarked when she saw the 
state of her pupil’s garments was: 

“ Really, Raymonde, I might have known you 
would be sure to do some stupid thing! No other 
girl in the school has fallen into the mud. Why 
didn’t you keep with the rest, and look where you 
were going? You’re more trouble than everybody 
else put together. If you can’t behave yourself 
when you come on an excursion, you must be left 
behind to do some preparation.” 

The Mystics consoled their leader as best they 
could, offering her their last remaining Paradise 
drops, and walking in a clump round her through 
the village to shield her from observation. Ardiune, 
who was poetically inclined, thought the occasion 
worthy of being celebrated in verse, and at bed- 
time handed Raymonde the following effusion, 
illustrated with spirited sketches in black lead- 


214 The Madcap of the School 

pencil, representing her with clay-covered feet of 
gigantic proportions. 

Raymonde, a nice and cheerful child 
Who seldom wept and often smiled, 

Was taken by her teachers kind 
A jaunt, to elevate her mind. 

By lengthy ladders undismayed, 

Behold her seek the quarry’s shade, 

With firm resolve to hit and hew, 

And find a fossil fern or two. 

She rapped the rocks with anxious pick, 

And scooped the ammonites out quick, 

But as she rang her brief tap-tap 
There chanced to her a sad mishap. 

Urged on by hope of fossil round, 

She stepped on some perfidious ground, 

So now behold our luckless Ray 
Plunged in the midst of horrid clay. 

The mud had nearly reached her waist, 

She called aloud in frantic haste: 

“ I sink, I sink in quagmire sable, 

To free myself I am unable!” 

Her friend, who hurried to her shout, 

Had much ado to drag her out. 

See! thick with mud and faint with fright, 

She bravely bears her woeful plight. 

Her tender teacher’s anxious fears 

She soothes, and dries her friends’ fond tears, 

Declaring, with a courage calm, 

The outing had been worth th’ alarm. 

“ Humph! Good for you, Ardiune!” commented 
Raymonde. “ Not much tenderness about Gibbie, 
though! And I didn’t see anybody’s fond tears! 


The Fossil Hunters 


215 


You all laughed at me! My feet weren’t a yard 
long, anyway!” 

“ Poetic and artistic licence allows a few slight 
exaggerations. Even Shakespeare took liberties 
with his subjects!” returned the authoress blandly. 
“ If not exactly a yard long, your feet, not small 
by nature, looked absolutely enormous! It’s the 
truth!” 


CHAPTER XVIII 

Mademoiselle 


“ Parlez-vous fran9ais, Mademoiselle? 

She opened the window, and out she fell. 

And what happened next I 've never heard tell, 
Parlez-vous fran^ais, Mademoiselle?’' 


chanted Raymonde, dancing into the dormitory 
and plumping down on Fauvette’s bed amid a pile 
of chiffons, muslins, and other flimsy articles of 
wearing apparel. ‘ ‘Why, what’s the matter, child? 
Whence this spread-out? You look weepy! Pack- 
ing to go home? Mother ill? Or are you expelled?” 

“ Neither,” gulped Fauvette with a watery smile. 
“ It’s only her — Mademoiselle! She’s turned all 
my drawers out on to the floor, and says I’ve got 
to tidy them. She lectured me hard in French. 
I couldn’t understand half of what she said, but I 
knew she was scolding. And I’ve to sort all these 
things out, and put them neatly away, and mend up 
everything that needs mending before this evening, 
or else she’ll tell the Bumble to come and look at 
them, and I shall get ‘sadly lacking in order’ down 
in my report again. It’s too bad!” 

“It’s positively brutal of Mademoiselle!” said 
Raymonde reflectively. “If it had been Gibbie, 
now, it would have been no surprise to me. Don’t 
216 


Mademoiselle 


217 


cry, you little silly! You look like a weeping 
cherub on a monument! Shovel your clothes back 
again into your drawers, and put a tidy top layer. 
That’s what I always do!” 

“ So do I,” wailed Fauvette. “ But it won’t work 
this time. Mademoiselle was really cross, and I 
could see she means to come to-night, and hold 
what she calls ‘une inspection’. She said some- 
thing about making me an example. Why, if she 
wants an example, need she choose me?” 

“ It’s certainly breaking a butterfly,” agreed 
Raymonde. “I’m afraid there’s something seri- 
ously wrong with Mademoiselle. She’s completely 
altered this last week. She never used to worry 
about things, and she’s suddenly turned as fussy as 
Gibbie.” 

Raymonde was not the only one who had noticed 
the change in the French mistress. It was apparent 
to everybody. Her entire character seemed sud- 
denly to have altered. Whereas beforetime she 
had been easygoing, slack, and ready to shut eyes 
and ears to schoolgirl failings, she was now keenly 
vigilant and highly exacting. In classes and at 
music lessons she demanded the utmost attention, 
and no longer passed over mistakes, or allowed a 
bad accent. She prohibited the use of the English 
tongue altogether during meals, and insisted upon 
her pupils conversing in French, requiring each 
one to come to table primed with a suitable remark 
in that language. The number of fines which she 
inflicted was so heavy that the missionary box 
filled with a rapidity more gratifying to the local 
secretary of the society than to the contributors. 
The girls were considerably puzzled at this change 


218 The Madcap of the School 

of face on the part of Mademoiselle, but Morvyth 
and Katherine gave it as their opinion that Miss 
Beasley lay at the back of it. 

“The Bumble’s probably had a talk with her, 
and told her she must buck up or go!” suggested 
the former. “I’m sure she always thought Made- 
moiselle a slacker — which she certainly was ! Pos- 
sibly she’s given her till the end of the term to show 
what she’s capable of, and if she doesn’t come up 
to the mark, we shall start next term with a new 
French governess.” 

“ I shouldn’t care!” said Raymonde easily. “ I 
never liked her much. We used to call her ‘ the 
butterfly’, but she’s ‘the mosquito’ now. She’s 
developing a very unpleasant sting.” 

Whatever might be the truth of Morvyth’s sur- 
mises as to the reason of Mademoiselle’s new atti- 
tude, the fact loomed large. Having determined 
to demonstrate her powers of discipline, she overdid 
it. She was one of those persons who cannot keep 
order and enforce rules without losing their tempers, 
and she stormed at the girls continually. She 
developed a mania for what she called “surveil- 
lance”. She was continually paying surprise visits 
to dormitory or schoolroom, and pouncing upon 
offenders who were talking, or otherwise neglecting 
their duties. It was even suspected that she listened 
behind doors. Fauvette, whose babyish character- 
istics led her into many pitfalls, seemed suddenly 
to become the scapegoat of Mademoiselle’s freshly 
acquired vigilance. Fauvette lacked spirit, and 
went down like a ninepin before the least word of 
reproof. Her feelings were easily hurt, and her 
tears always close to the surface. She sat now and 


Mademoiselle 


219 


sobbed pathetically upon her pillow, without making 
the least effort to tidy up her belongings. Ray- 
monde shook her head over her. 

‘ ‘ You’re the sort of girl who ought to go through 
life with a nurse or a maid to look after you ; you’re 
not fit to take care of yourself,” she decided. 
“ Look here, how much wants doing to your clothes 
before the Mosquito comes buzzing round to in- 
spect?” 

“ Shoals !” sighed Fauvette wearily. “ I’m afraid 
I’ve left my mending. There are stockings, and 
gloves, and — all kinds of things.” 

“ Can you get it done in time?” 

“ Impossible!” and the tears dripped again on to 
a dainty muslin collar. 

t ‘ Then there’s nothing for it but to get up a 
Mending Bee, and help you! We seven are sworn 
to stick together.” 

‘ ‘There’ll be squalls if you’re caught in the 
dormitory during recreation. I was told to stay 
here,” cautioned Fauvette. 

“We’ve got to risk something,” returned Ray- 
monde cheerily, scurrying off in search of the re- 
maining five of the Mystics. 

“You’ve all got to fetch work-baskets and come 
this instant,” she commanded. “ It’s an urgency 
call, like last term when we made T bandages for 
Roumania, and nose-bags for the horses, only it’s 
even more important and urgent.” 

Armed with their sewing materials, the girls 
slipped one by one upstairs, and, settling themselves 
upon the beds in the immediate vicinity of Fauvette’s, 
set to work. It was a formidable task. Their com- 
rade had brought a large assortment of garments 


220 


The Madcap of the School 

to school with her, and had happily left them 
unmended, trusting to take them home to be re- 
paired. At present they were mixed in a hopeless 
jumble on the floor and on her bed, just where 
Mademoiselle had tipped out the drawers. Stock- 
ings, underclothes, gloves, handkerchiefs, photos, 
old letters, ribbons, ties, beads, lockets, books, and 
an assortment of odd treasures were lying together 
in utter confusion. 

Fauvette brightened at the sight of her friends, 
mopped her eyes, and pushed back her fluffy hair 
from her hot forehead. 

“Brace up!” Raymonde encouraged her. 
“We’re not going to help unless you’ll do your 
own share. Sort those things out, and be putting 
them in your drawers while we do your mending. 
Morvyth, take these stockings; Katherine, you’re 
artistic, so I’ll give you baby ribbon to thread 
through these bodices. Ardiune, you may mend 
gloves. Ave, collect those hair ribbons, and put 
them neatly inside that box, and stack those photos 
together. Why they’re not in an album I can’t 
imagine!” 

“ Because I generally sleep with one or two of 
them under my pillow,” confessed Fauvette. 
“ Why shouldn’t I, if I like? There’s no harm in 
it. Oh! please be careful with those beads, you’ll 
break the strings!” 

“I can’t think why you need so many empty 
chocolate boxes,” commented Aveline, sweeping 
up treasures with a ruthless hand. “ Your drawers 
will be so full they won’t shut. Throw half of them 
away!” 

“ No, no! I always keep them to remind me of 


Mademoiselle 


221 


the people who gave them to me. You mustn’t 
throw any of them away. They’re chock-full of 
memories.” 

“ Rather have them chock-full of chocs, myself!” 
remarked Morvyth dryly. “ Fauvette, you’re in- 
teresting and pretty — when you don’t cry (for good- 
ness’ sake look at your red eyes in the glass !) ; but 
you’re as sentimental as an Early Victorian heroine. 
You ought to wear a bonnet and a crinoline, and 
carry a little fringed parasol, and talk about your 
‘papa’! If you don’t get safely engaged to an 
officer before you’re out of your teens, you’ll turn 
into one of those faded females who bore one with 
sickly reminiscences of their past, and spend the 
remainder of your life pampering a pet poodle. 
Here, I’ve mended two pairs of stockings for you.” 

“And I’ve done three pairs,” said Raymonde, 
folding up the articles in question and putting 
them in her friend’s second long drawer. “We’re 
getting on. Kathy, have you finished the bodices? 
We’ll soon have you straightened up, Baby, and if 
Mademoiselle Oh!” 

Raymonde’s sudden ejaculation was caused by a 
vision of no less a person than Miss Gibbs, who 
was standing in the doorway of the dormitory re- 
garding the sewing party in some astonishment. 

“What are you girls doing here?” she demanded, 
making a bee-line for them among the beds. 

Nobody answered, and for a moment or two 
blank dismay spread itself over the countenances 
of the Mystics. Then Raymonde’s lucky star came 
to the rescue, and popped an inspiration into her 
head. 

“You were telling us in Social History class 


222 


The Madcap of the School 

yesterday, Miss Gibbs, about the necessity of women 
co-operating in their work if they are ever to com- 
mand a higher scale of pay,” she explained glibly; 
“so we thought we’d better begin to put our prin- 
ciples into practice. Fauvette had fallen into arrears, 
and was in danger of — er — trouble, so we all came 
just to boost her up to standard, and let her get 
a fair start again. It’s on the basis of a Women’s 
Union or — or — Freemasons. We thought we were 
bound to help one another.” 

Miss Gibbs was not a remarkably humorous per- 
son, but on this occasion the corners of her mouth 
were distinctly observed to twitch. She mastered 
the weakness instantly, however, and remarked: 

“I’m glad to hear that you are interested in 
co-operation. This is certainly a practical demon- 
stration of the theory, and Fauvette ought to be 
grateful to you. Be quick and finish straightening 
the things, and, if anybody asks questions, you may 
say that you have my permission to remain here 
until tea-time.” 

The girls sat at attention till the door closed upon 
their mistress, then their mingled amazement and 
gratitude burst forth. 

“Good old Gibbie!” 

“ She’s an absolute sport to-day!” 

“ Never known her in such a jinky mood before!” 

“The fact of the matter is,” observed Raymonde 
sagely, “ I believe Gibbie absolutely loathes Made- 
moiselle, and that for once in a way she’s not above 
taking a legitimate chance of paying her out.” 

When the French mistress came round that even- 
ing on her tour of inspection, she found Fauvette’s 
drawers in apple-pie order right to the very bot- 


Mademoiselle 


223 


toms — beads, ties, and collars carefully arranged 
in boxes, and nicely mended stockings placed in 
a row. 

“ It only show vat you can do ven you try!” she 
commented. “ In a woman to be untidy is — ah! 
I have not your English idiom?” 

“The limit!” wickedly suggested Raymonde, 
who was standing close by. 

But Mademoiselle, who had been warned against 
the acquisition of slang, glared at her till she beat 
a hasty retreat. 

It was growing near to the end of the term, and 
examinations loomed imminently on the horizon. 
They were to be conducted this year by Miss Beas- 
ley’s brother, a clergyman, and a former lecturer 
at Oxford. He had made a special study of modern 
languages, so that his standard of requirement in 
regard to French grammar was likely to be a high 
one. Up till now the Fifth Form had plodded 
through Dejardin’s exercises in an easy fashion, 
without worrying greatly about the multitude of 
their mistakes, over which their mistress had in- 
deed shaken her head, but had made no special 
crusade to amend. Now, in view of the awe- 
inspiring visit of the Reverend T. W. Beasley, 
M.A., Mademoiselle had instituted an eleventh- 
hour spurt of diligence, and kept her pupils with 
reluctant noses pressed hard to the grindstone. 
Irregular verbs and exceptions of gender seemed 
much worse when taken in such large doses. The 
girls began to wish either that the Tower of Babel 
had never been attempted, or that the world had 
reached a sufficient stage of civilization to adopt a 
universal language. Over one point in particular 


224 The Madcap of the School 

they considered that they had a just and pressing 
grievance. The French classes of Form V came 
on the time-table from 12 to 12.30, being the last 
subjects of morning school. Dinner was at one 
o’clock, and in the intervening half-hour the girls 
put away their books, washed their hands and tidied 
their hair, and refreshed their flagging spirits by 
a run round the garden. Mademoiselle had been 
wont to close her book at the exact minute of the 
half-hour, but now she utterly ignored the clock, 
and would go on with the lesson till a quarter or 
even ten minutes to one. The wrath of the Form 
knew no bounds. They valued their short exercise 
before dinner extremely. To have it thus cut off 
was an infringement of their rights. Mademoiselle, 
who was perfectly aware that she was exceeding 
the limit of the time-table, sheltered herself behind 
excuses. 

“Ven I take your verbs I forget it is so late,” 
she would remark. “ Ze lesson slip avay, and ve 
not yet done all ve should.” 

The girls held an indignation meeting to discuss 
the subject. Even Maudie Heywood’s appetite for 
knowledge was glutted by this extra diet of French 
syntax, and Muriel Fuller and Magsie Mawson, 
amiable nonentities who rarely ruffled the surface 
of the school waters, for once verified the proverb 
that the worm will turn. 

“ It’s not fair!” raged Ardiune. 

“ Ma’m’selle knows she ought to stop at half- 
past!” urged Magsie in injured tones. 

“ It’s taking a mean advantage!” echoed Muriel. 

“And we can’t really work properly when she 
goes on so long!” wailed Maudie. 


Mademoiselle 


225 


“I vote we strike !” suggested Morvyth fiercely. 
“ Let’s tell her we won’t go in for the exam, at all, 
if she goes on lengthening out the lessons.” 

Several of the Form brightened up at the sug- 
gestion, but Aveline, a shade more practical, shook 
her head discouragingly. 

“ If we do, there’ll be a fine old row! The 
Mosquito’ll appeal to the Bumble, who’d have her 
back up directly. I think we’d better not try that 
on. We don’t want to take home ‘conduct dis- 
graceful’ in our reports.” 

“Ave’s right,” agreed Raymonde. “We know 
the Bumble! This is a matter for tact, not brute 
force. We must manage Mademoiselle. She pre- 
tends she forgets the time — very well, then, we 
must take steps to bring it palpably to her notice. 
Will you leave the matter in my hands? I’ve got 
an idea.” 

Raymonde’s inspirations were so well known 
in the Form, that the rest willingly consented to 
appoint her as a sub-committee of one to undertake 
the full management of the affair. Before the next 
French class she made a tour of the monitresses’ 
bedrooms. They had instituted an early- rising 
society among themselves this term, and almost 
everyone was provided with an alarum-clock. Ray- 
rnonde boldly borrowed five of these, without ask- 
ing leave of their owners, and set them all carefully 
for 12.30, winding them up to their fullest extent. 
She then placed them inside the book cupboard in 
the class-room, and covered them with some sheets 
of exercise paper. 

The lesson proceeded even more painfully than 
usual. Ardiune got hopelessly mixed between in- 

(0.887) is 


226 The Madcap of the School 

definite pronouns and indefinite pronominal adjec- 
tives, and Fauvette floundered over the negations, 
while Muriel found the proper placing of the p's 
and /’s in the conjugation of appeler an impossible 
problem. As 12.30 drew near, there was much 
glancing at wrist-watches. Mademoiselle kept her 
eyes persistently turned away from the clock, with 
the evident intention of once more ignoring the 
time. This morning, however, Fate, in the person 
of Raymonde, had been against her. Exactly at the 
half-hour five alarums started punctually inside the 
cupboard, raising such a din that it was impossible 
to hear a word. Mademoiselle flew to investigate, 
took them out, shook them, and laid them on their 
backs, but they were wound up to their fullest ex- 
tent, and nothing short of a hammer would have 
stopped them. The noise was terrific. 

The baffled French governess, clapping her 
hands over her ears, raised her eyebrows in a signal 
of dismissal, and the girls availed themselves of the 
permission with record speed. The alarums burred 
cheerily on for about twenty minutes, after which, 
by Mademoiselle’s instructions, they were replaced 
in the monitresses’ bedrooms by Hermie. The 
Fifth were prepared for trouble, but to their surprise 
no notice was taken of the incident at head-quarters. 
Possibly Mademoiselle was aware that her late 
efforts at discipline were regarded by Miss Beasley 
with as little favour as her former slackness, and 
considered it useless to appeal to her Principal. 
She took the hint, however, and in future ter- 
minated the lesson punctually at the half-hour, so 
on this occasion the girls considered that they had 
most decidedly scored. 


CHAPTER XIX 


A Mysterious Happening 

It was now nearly the end of July. The weathei, 
which for many weeks had been fine and warm, 
suddenly changed to a spell of cold and wet. Rain 
dripped dismally from the eaves, the tennis courts 
were sodden, and the orchard was a marsh. The 
girls had grown accustomed to spending almost all 
their spare time out of doors, and chafed at their 
enforced confinement to the house. They hung 
about in disconsolate little groups, and grumbled. 
Miss Beasley, who was generally well aware of the 
mental atmosphere of the Grange, registered the 
barometer at stormy, and decided that prompt 
measures were necessary. To work off the steam 
of the school, she suggested a good old-fashioned 
game of hide-and-seek, and gave permission for it 
to be played on those upper landings which were 
generally forbidden ground. Twenty-six delighted 
girls started at once upstairs, and passed through 
the wire door, specially unlocked for their benefit, 
to the dim and mysterious regions that lay under 
the roof. It was the best place in the world for 
the purpose — long labyrinths of passages leading 
round into one another, endless attics, and in- 
numerable cupboards. The smallness of the lat- 

2*7 


228 The Madcap of the School 

deed windows, combined with the wetness of the 
afternoon, produced a twilight that was most de- 
sirable, and highly suited to the game. 

Hermie and Veronica picked sides, and the 
former’s band stole off to conceal themselves, while 
the others covered their eyes in orthodox fashion, 
and counted a hundred. 

“ Cuckoo 1 We’re coming!” shouted Hermie at 
last, and the fun began. 

Up and down, and in and out, diving through 
doorways, racing along passages, chasing one 
another round corners, groping in cupboards, 
panting, squealing, laughing or shuddering, the 
girls pervaded the upper story. There was a 
ghostly gloom about the old place which made 
it all the more thrilling, and gave the players a 
feeling that at any moment some bogy might spring 
upon them from a dark recess, or a skinny hand be 
stretched downwards through a trap-door. Flushed, 
excited, and really a little nervous, both sides at 
last sought the safety of the “den ”. Two or three 
of them began to compare notes. They were joined 
by others. In a very short time the whole school 
knew that at least a third of their number had seen 
a “something”. They were quite unanimous in 
their report. “It” was a girl of about their own 
age, in a dark -green dress with a wide white 
collar. Hermie and Ardiune had noticed her most 
distinctly. She had smiled and beckoned to them, 
and run along the passage, but when they turned 
the corner she had disappeared; and Linda and 
Elsie, whom they had met coming in the opposite 
direction, declared that they had seen nobody. Lois 
and Katherine had caught a glimpse of her as they 


22g 


A Mysterious Happening 

chased Maudie in one of the attics, and Joan de- 
clared positively that she had seen her flitting down 
the stairs. 

“ It’s queer in the extreme,” murmured Valen- 
tine. 

‘‘Are you quite sure it wasn’t really only one of 
us?” urged Meta. 

“Absolutely I” declared Hermie emphatically 
“We all have on our brown serges to-day, and I 
tell you this girl was in dark green; not a gym. 
costume to wear over a blouse, like ours, but a 
dress with long sleeves and a big white collar.” 

“ I don’t believe she’s a real girl at all,” faltered 
Magsie tremulously. “ She’s a spook 1” 

Magsie voiced the opinion of the majority. It 
was what most of the school had been feeling for 
the last five minutes. The interest in the super- 
natural, which had been a craze earlier in the term 
until sternly repressed by Miss Beasley, suddenly 
revived. Daphne remembered the magazine 
article she had read entitled “The Borderland of 
the Spirit World ”, and cold thrills passed down 
her spine. Veronica ventured the suggestion that 
the apparition might be an astral body or an ele- 
mental entity. 

“ It’s a case for the Society for Psychical Research 
to investigate,” she nodded gravely. “ I always 
said the Grange was bound to be haunted.” 

“What was this girl like?” asked Raymonde 
reflectively. “Ancient or modern?” 

“ Modern, decidedly. She had on a green dress 
with a white ” 

“So you’ve told us already,” — impatiently. “We 
know about her clothes. What was she like?” 


230 The Madcap of the School 

Hermie stood for a moment with eyes shut, as if 
calling up a mental picture. 

“About Ardiune’s height, but slimmer: rosy face, 
and dark hair done in a plait — really not so unlike 
you, Ray, only I should say decidedly prettier. ,, 

“Thank you!” sniffed Raymonde. 

“That just about sizes her up!” agreed those who 
had seen the vision. 

“She didn’t look spooky at all,” continued 
Hermie. “She was quite substantial. You 
couldn’t see through her, and she didn’t melt into 
the air.” 

“And yet she disappeared?” 

“Yes, she certainly disappeared, and in a pas- 
sage where there were no doors.” 

“Do you remember the story I told you of the 
lady whose astral double left her body during sleep, 
and haunted a friend’s house?” began Veronica 
darkly. 

“Don’t tell any ghost stories up here — don’t!” 
implored Fauvette. “ I’ll have hysterics in another 
minute!” 

“ I’m frightened!” whimpered Joan. 

“ I vote we go downstairs,” suggested Morvyth. 
“ I don’t want to play any more hide-and-seek at 
present.” 

Nobody else seemed anxious to pursue the game. 
The attics were too charged with the occult to be 
entirely pleasant. Everybody made a unanimous 
stampede for the lower story, passing down the 
winding staircase with a sense of relief. Once on 
familiar ground again, things looked more cheery. 

“ Back already?” commented Miss Gibbs, who 
had met them on the landing. 


A Mysterious Happening 231 

“Yes, we’re all — er — a little tired!” evaded 
Hermie, with one of her conscious blushes. 

“ Better go to the dining-room and get out your 
sewing, then,” replied the mistress, eyeing her 
keenly. 

The girls proceeded soberly downstairs, still keep- 
ing close together like a flock of sheep. Raymonde, 
however, lagged behind. For a moment or two 
she stood pondering, then she ran swiftly up the 
winding staircase again into the attic. 

The talk of the school that evening turned solely 
upon the ghost girl. Meta, who had not seen the 
vision, declared it was nothing but over-excited 
imagination, and feared that some people were apt 
to get hysterical; at which Hermie retorted that no 
one could be further from hysteria than herself, 
and that six independent witnesses could scarcely 
imagine the same thing at the same moment, with- 
out some basis for their common report. Veronica 
considered that they had entered unwittingly into 
a psychic circle, and encountered either a thought- 
form that had materialized, or a phantasm of the 
living. 

“Some people have capacities for astral vision 
that others don’t possess,” she said in a lowered 
voice. “ It’s quite probable that Hermie may be 
clairvoyante.” 

Hermie sighed interestedly. It was pleasanter 
to be dubbed clairvoyante than hysterical. She 
had always felt that Meta did not appreciate her. 

“We’ve none of us been trained to realize our 
spiritual possibilities,” she replied, her eyes wide 
and thoughtful. 

While a few girls disbelieved entirely in the 


232 The Madcap of the School 

spectre, and others accepted the explanation accord- 
ing to Veronica’s occult theories, most of the school 
considered the attic to be haunted by a plain old- 
fashioned ghost, such as anybody might expect to 
find in an ancient mansion like the Grange. They 
waived the subject of modern costume, deciding 
that in the dim light such details could hardly have 
been adequately distinguished, and that the ap- 
parition must have been a cavalier or Jacobite 
maiden, whose heart-rending story was buried in 
the oblivion of years. 

“Perhaps her lover was killed,” commented Fau- 
vette, with a quiver of sympathy. 

“ Or her father was impeached by Parliament,” 
added Maudie. 

“She may have had a cruel stepmother who ill- 
treated her,” sighed Muriel softly. 

Raymonde alone offered no suggestions, and 
when asked for her opinion as to the explanation 
of the mystery, shook her head sagely, and said 
nothing. The immediate result of the experience 
was that Veronica went to Miss Beasley, and bor- 
rowed An Antiquarian Survey of the County oj 
Bedworthshire , including a description of its Castles 
and Moated Houses , together with a History of its 
Ancient Families — a ponderous volume dated 1823, 
which had before been offered for the girls’ inspec- 
tion, but which nobody had hitherto summoned 
courage to attack. She studied it now with deep 
attention, and gave a digest of its information for 
the benefit of weaker minds, less able than her own, 
to grapple with the stilted language. The school 
preferred lighter literature for their own reading, 
but were content to listen to legends of the past 


A Mysterious Happening 233 

when told by Veronica, who had rather a gift for 
narrative, and could carry her audience with her. 
As the next afternoon was still hopelessly wet, the 
girls gathered in one of the schoolrooms with their 
sewing, and were regaled with a story while they 
worked. 

“ I found out all about the Grange,” began 
Veronica. “ It belonged to a family named Ferrers, 
and they took the side of the King in the Civil 
War. While Sir Hugh was away fighting in the 
north, the house was besieged by Cromwell’s 
troops. The Lady of the Manor, Dame Joan 
Ferrers, had to look after the defence. She had 
not many men, nor a great deal of ammunition, 
and not nearly as much food as was necessary. 
She at once put all the household upon short 
rations, and drew up the drawbridge, barred the 
great gates, and prepared to hold out as long as she 
possibly could. She knew that the Cavalier forces 
might be marching in the direction of Marlowe at 
any time to relieve her, and that if she could keep 
the enemy at bay even for a few weeks the Grange 
might be saved. The utmost vigilance was used. 
Sentries were posted in the tower over the great 
gate, and the lady herself constantly patrolled the 
walls. With so small a garrison it was a difficult 
task, for the men had not adequate time to rest or 
sleep, and were soon nearly worn out. The scanty 
supply of food was almost at an end. Unless help 
should arrive within a few days, they would be 
obliged to capitulate. All the flour was gone, and 
the bacon and salted beef, and the cocks and hens 
and pigeons, and even the horses had been killed 
and eaten, though these had been kept till the very 


J34 The Madcap of the School 

last. The worst of the trouble was that there was 
treachery within the walls. Dame Joan was well 
aware of it, though she could not be absolutely 
sure which of her men were disaffected, for they all 
still pretended loyalty to their master and to the 
King. Nobody, she felt, was really to be trusted, 
though the walls were still manned, and the cannon 
blazed away with what ammunition was left. If 
the Grange were to be saved at all, it was impera- 
tive that a message asking for help should be con- 
veyed to the Royalist forces. But how could it be 
taken? The Roundheads were encamped all round 
the walls, and would promptly shoot anyone who 
attempted to penetrate their lines. None of the 
garrison would be stout-hearted enough to venture. 

“Sir Hugh’s eldest son was away fighting with 
his father, but there was a daughter at home, a girl 
of about thirteen, named Joyce. She came now to 
her mother, and begged to be allowed to take the 
message. It was a long time before Dame Joan 
would give her consent, for she knew the terrible 
danger to which Joyce would be exposed; but she 
had the lives of her younger children to think of as 
well, and in the end she gave her reluctant per- 
mission. Just when it was growing dusk, she took 
her little daughter to a secret doorway in the 
panelling, from which a subterranean passage led 
underneath the moat into the adjoining wood. 
This secret passage was known only to Sir Hugh 
and his wife and their eldest son, and it was now 
shown tc Joyce for the first time. It was a horrible 
experience to go down it alone, but she was a brave 
lassie, and ready to risk her life for the sake of her 
mother, and her younger brothers and sisters. She 


A Mysterious Happening 235 

took a lantern to guide her, and set off with as 
cheerful a face as she could show. The air was 
stale and musty, and in some places she felt as if 
she could scarcely breathe. Her footsteps, light 
though they were, rang hollow. After what seemed 
to her a very long way, she found herself in a small 
cave, and could catch a gleam of twilight sky 
through the entrance. She at once extinguished 
the lantern, and advanced with extreme caution. 
She was in the wood at the farther side of the moat, 
a place where she had often played with her brothers, 
and had gathered primroses and violets in the 
springtime. She could recognize the group of tall 
elms, and knew that if she kept to the right she 
might creep through a hole in the hedge, and make 
her way across some fields into the high road. As 
quietly as some little dormouse or night animal she 
stole along. 

“ Not far off she could see the great camp fire, 
round which the troopers were preparing their 
supper. She hoped they would all be too busy 
with their cooking to notice her. As she passed 
behind some bushes she suddenly caught the gleam 
of a steel helmet within a few yards of her. She 
crouched down under the shelter of a clump of 
gorse. But in doing so she made a faint rustle. 

“ ‘Halt! Who goes there?’ came the challenge. 

“Joyce’s heart was beating so loudly that she 
thought it must surely be heard. 

“The sentry listened a moment, then levelling 
his pistol, sent a shot through the gorse bush. It 
passed within a few inches of her head, but she 
had the presence of mind not to cry out or move. 
Evidently thinking he was mistaken, the sentry 


236 The Madcap of the School 

paced farther on, and Joyce, seizing her golden 
opportunity, slipped through the hole in the hedge. 
Still using the cover of bushes, she made her way 
across three fields, and reached the road. It was 
quite dark now, but she knew her direction, and 
turned up a by-lane where she would be unlikely 
to meet troopers. All night she walked, guiding 
herself partly by the stars, for she knew that 
Charles’s Wain always pointed to the north. At 
dawn a very tired and worn-out little maiden pre- 
sented herself at the gateway of Hepplethorpe 
Manor, demanding instant audience of Sir Roger 
Rivington. That worthy knight and loyal sup- 
porter of the Crown, on hearing her story, imme- 
diately sent horsemen with a letter to General 
Bright, of the King’s forces, who lay encamped 
only five miles off; and he, marching without 
delay for Marlowe Grange, surprised the Parlia- 
mentarians and completely routed them. The half- 
starved garrison opened the great gates to their 
deliverers with shouts of joy, and, we may be sure, 
welcomed the supplies of food that poured into the 
house later on. As for Joyce, she must have been 
the heroine of the family.” 

“ Is that all?” asked the girls, as Veronica paused 
and began to count the stitches in the sock she was 
knitting. 

“All that’s in the book, and I’ve embroidered it 
a little. It was told in such a very dull fashion, so 
I put it in my own words. It’s quite true, though.” 

“What became of Joyce afterwards?” 

“She married Sir Reginald Loveday, and be- 
came the lady of Clopgate Towers. The tomb is 
in Byford Church.” 


A Mysterious Happening 237 

“If she’d been shot by the trooper, I should 
have thought she was the ghost girl!” commented 
Ardiune. “ I don’t quite see how we could fix that 
up, though. It doesn’t seem to fit. You’re quite 
sure she escaped?” 

“ Perfectly certain. How else could the Grange 
have been saved?” 

Veronica’s argument settled the question, but the 
girls felt that the dramatic interest of the situation 
would have been better suited if the story had ended 
with the melancholy death of the heroine, and her 
subsequent haunting of the Manor. 

“ I always heard that Cromwell’s soldiers de- 
stroyed the walls and made those big holes in the 
gateway with their cannon-balls,” said Morvyth, 
still only half convinced. 

“ So they did, but that was two years afterwards, 
and the children were all sent safely away before 
the second siege.” 

“It hasn’t solved the mystery of the ghost 
girl,” persisted Ardiune. “Ray, what do you 
think about it?” 

Raymonde, lost in a brown study, started almost 
guiltily, and recommenced her sewing with feverish 
haste. 

“Think? Why, it’s a pretty story, of course. 
What more can I think? Why d’you ask me?” 

“Oh! I don’t know, except that you generally 
have ideas about everything. Who can the ghost 
girl be?” 

But Raymonde, having lost her scissors, was 
biting her thread, and only shook her head in 
reply. 


CHAPTER XX 

The Coon Concert 


At the end of the summer term it had always been 
the custom of the school for each Form to get up 
a separate little entertainment, at which the other 
Forms should act audience. This year it was 
unanimously decided not only to keep up the old 
tradition, but to extend the original plan by charg- 
ing for admission, and sending the proceeds to the 
Blinded Soldiers’ Fund. This idea appealed greatly 
to the girls. 

“They’ve given their eyes for us, and we ought 
to do something for them!” declared Linda em- 
phatically. 

“ It must be awful to be blind,” sighed Muriel. 

“Yes, and some of them are such lads, too! 
Think of losing your sight, and having your whole 
career ruined, when you’re only nineteen or twenty, 
and the ghastly prospect of living years and years 
and years till you’re quite old, and never being 
able to see the sun again, and the flowers, and your 
friends’ faces, or anything that makes life beautiful! 
I don’t think half of us realize what our soldiers 
have suffered for us!” 

“And they’re so patient and cheerful!” added 
Veronica. “In my opinion they prove their hero- 

238 


The Coon Concert 


239 


ism as much by the way they bear their ruined 
lives afterwards as by their deeds in the trenches. 
It has shown what stuff British folk are made of. 
And you get such surprises. Often a boy whom 
you’ve known, and always thought weak and selfish 
and silly, will turn out to have any amount of grit 
in him. There’s one in particular — a friend of ours. 
He cared for nothing before except amusing him- 
self — the kind of boy who’s always getting into 
debt and doing foolish things. Well, he’s utterly 
changed; he’s not like the same fellow. I think 
the war will have made a great difference to many 
of our men.” 

“And to our women too, I hope,” said Miss 
Beasley, who, unnoticed by Veronica, had joined 
the group. “ It would be a poor thing for the 
country if only the men came purified out of this 
time of trouble. ‘A nation rises no higher than its 
women!’ And now is Woman’s great opportunity. 
I think she is taking it. She is showing by her 
work in hospitals, in canteens, on the land, in 
offices, or in public service, how she can put her 
shoulder to the wheel and help in her country’s 
hour of need. I believe this war will have broken 
down many foolish old traditions and customs, and 
that people will be ready afterwards to live more 
simple, natural lives than they did before. The 
schoolgirls of to-day are the women of to-morrow, 
and it is on you that the nation will rely in years 
to come. Don’t ever forget that! Try to prove 
it practically!” 

Miss Beasley seldom “preached” to the girls, 
but when she spoke, her few quiet words generally 
had their effect. Hermie and Linda in especial 


240 The Madcap of the School 

turned them over in their minds. As the result of 
their mistress’s last remark, they made a suggestion 
to their fellow-monitresses. 

“Some of us are leaving this term, and at any 
rate in a few years we shall all have left, and be 
scattered about in various places. Wouldn’t it be 
nice to make a kind of League, and undertake that 
every girl who has belonged to this school will do 
her very best to help the world? It should be a 
‘Marlowe Grange’ pledge, and we’d bind ourselves 
to keep it. If a whole school makes up its mind to 
a thing, it ought to have some effect, and it would 
be splendid to feel that our school had been an 
inspiration, and helped to build up a new and 
better nation after the war. There are only twenty- 
six of us here at present, but suppose when we 
leave we each influence ten people, that makes two 
hundred and sixty, and if they each influence ten 
people more, it makes two thousand six hundred, 
so the thing grows like circles in a pond. I don’t 
mean that we’re to be a set of prigs, and go about 
criticizing everybody and telling them they are 
slackers — that’s not the right way at all; but if we 
stick up constantly for all that we know is best, 
people will probably begin to sympathize, and 
want to do the same.” 

Hermie’s and Linda’s idea appealed to the Sixth. 
They instituted the League at once, and persuaded 
the entire school to join. They put their heads 
together, and drew up a short code which they 
considered should explain the attitude of their 
society. It ran as follows: — 


The Coon Concert 


241 


MARLOWE GRANGE LEAGUE 

AFTER-THE-WAR RULES 

1. To do some definite, sensible work, and not to 

spend all my time in golf, dances, and other 
amusements. 

2. To read wholesome books, study Nature, and be 

content with simple pleasures. 

3. Not to judge my friends by the standards of 

clothes and money, but by their real worth. 

4. To strive to be broad-minded, and to look at 

things from other people’s points of view as well 
as my own. 

5. To do all I can to help others. 

6. To understand that character is the most useful 

possession I can have, to speak the truth, be 
charitable to my neighbours’ faults, and avoid 
gossip. 

7. To cultivate and cherish the faculty of appreciat- 

ing all the beautiful in life, and to enjoy inno- 
cent pleasures. 

8. To realize that as a soldier is one of an army, so 

I am a unit of a great nation, and must play 
my part bravely and nobly for the sake of my 
country. 

9. To remember that I can do good and useful work 

in my own home as well as out in the world. 

10. To keep my heart open, and take life cheerfully, 

kindly, and smilingly, trying to make my own 
little circle better and happier, and to forget 
myself in pleasing others. 

11. Not to moan and groan over what is inevitable, 

but to make the best of things as they are. 

12. To be faithful to my friends, loyal to my King 

and my Country, and true to God. 

God Save the King! 

In order to make the League a binding and last- 
ing affair, the monitresses decided to give each 

(0 887 ) 16 


242 The Madcap of the School 

member a copy of the code, and ask her to sign her 
name to it. For this purpose they made twenty- 
six dainty little books of exercise paper, with cover*' 
of cardboard (begged from the drawing cupboard) 
decorated with Japanese stencils of iris, chrysan 
themums, birds and reeds, or other artistic designs, 
the backs being tied with bows of baby ribbon. 
After the list of rules, were appended a few suitable 
quotations, and blank pages were left, so that each 
individual could fill them up with extracts that she 
liked, either cut out of magazines or written in her 
own hand. Most of the girls admired Robert Louis 
Stevenson, so the selections began with his wise and 
tender epitome of life: — 

“ To be honest, to be kind, to earn a little and to 
spend a little less, to make upon the whole a family 
happier for his presence., to renounce when that 
shall be necessary and not be embittered, to keep 
a few friends, but these without capitulation. Above 
all, on the same grim condition, to keep friends 
with himself. Here is a task for all that a man has 
of fortitude and delicacy. ” 

As Linda and Hermie could not agree whether 
this ideal of life or the one by William Henry 
Channing was the more beautifully expressed, it 
was agreed to put the latter’s as well: — 

“To live content with small means; to seek ele- 
gance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than 
fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, 
not rich, to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, 
act frankly; to listen to stars and birds, to babes 
and sages with open heart; to bear all cheerfully, 
do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never; in a 
word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, 


The Coon Concert 


243 

grow up through the common — this is to be my 
symphony.” 

As the League was to be nothing if not practical, 
everyone felt that the best way of upholding its 
principles at the present moment was to raise a 
good collection for the fund for the blinded soldiers. 
The Sixth determined to give a theatrical per- 
formance, the juniors a display of gymnastics and 
dancing, and the Fifth concentrated their minds 
upon a concert. 

“It’s not to be just an ordinary concert,” said 
Ardiune, addressing a select committee of manage- 
ment; “it must be something extra special and 
outside, such as we’ve never had before in the 
school, so rub up your ideas, please, and make 
suggestions. I’m waiting!” 

“ Rather a big order to get anything entirely 
new!” grunted Morvyth. “I should say every- 
thing on the face of the earth’s been tried al- 
ready ! ” 

“ But not here! How you catch me up!” 

“There isn’t time to get up an operetta, I sup- 
pose?” ventured Fauvette. 

“ Hardly — in three days!” 

“A patriotic performance?” 

“Had one only last term, so it would come 
stale.” 

“Then what can we have?” 

“I know!” exclaimed Raymonde, bouncing up 
from her chair, and taking a seat upon the table 
instead. “I vote we be coons!” 

“What’s coons?” asked Katherine ungrammati- 
cally. 

“Oh, you stupid! You know! You sing 


244 The Madcap of the School 

plantation songs, and wear a red-and-white cos- 
tume, and wave tambourines, and that sort of 
thing.” 

“ Do we black our faces?” 

“We can if we like, but it isn’t necessary. 
We’re not to be nigger minstrels exactly. Coons 
are different. Of course, the songs are all about 
Sambos and Dinahs, but white people can sing 
them with quite as great effect. I believe the 
Bumble’s got some castanets and things put away 
that we could borrow.” 

“ So she has! Bags me the cymbals’” 

“ Pity nobody can play the banjo.” 

“ Never mind, we shall do very well with the 
piano.” 

The committee having decided that their concert 
was to be a coon performance, the girls set to work 
accordingly to make preparations. All the song- 
books in the school were ransacked to find plan- 
tation melodies, and after much discussion, not 
to say quarrelling, a programme was at length 
arranged, sufficiently spicy to entertain the girl 
portion of the audience, but select enough not to 
offend the easily shocked susceptibilities of Miss 
Gibbs, whose ideas of songs suitable for young 
ladies ran — in direct opposition to most of her 
theories — on absolutely Early Victorian lines. 

“Gibbie’s notion of a concert is ‘ Home, Sweet 
Home’ and ‘Cherry Ripe’, and perhaps ‘Caller 
Herrin’ if you want something lively,” pouted 
Ardiune. 

“Yes, and even those have to be edited,” agreed 
Morvyth. “ Don’t you remember when we were 
learning ‘Cherry Ripe’, she insisted on our chang- 


The Coon Concert 


245 

ing ‘Where my Julia’s lips do smile’ into ‘Where 
the sunbeams sweetly smile?’” 

“And she wouldn’t let us sing ‘The Blue Bells 
of Scotland’, and we knew it was just because it 
began : ‘ Oh where, tell me where, is your Highland 
laddie gone?’” 

‘ ‘ Don’t you know it’s highly improper for a school- 
girl even to mention a laddie?” murmured Katherine 
ironically. 

“ How about the blinded soldiers, then?” 

“ That’s another matter, I suppose.” 

“ Look here — let’s take our programme to the 
Bumble, and get her to pass it beforehand, and then 
there can be no criticisms afterwards.” 

“ Right you are!” 

“ I’ve got another idea,” propounded Raymonde. 
“Suppose, instead of having our concert in the 
lecture hall, we ask the Bumble to let us have it in 
the barn instead? It would be just twice as coony.” 

‘ ‘Top-hole ! It would be a regular stunt ! ” agreed 
the committee. 

A deputation waited upon Miss Beasley, and 
found her quite gracious and amenable to reason, 
both in respect of the choice of plantation ditties 
and the use of the barn as a place of entertainment. 
She even vouchsafed the further and most valuable 
suggestion that they might supply refreshments 
and charge for them, to help to swell the funds. 

“You can send an order to the Stores at Gladford 
to-morrow for cakes and biscuits. Cook shall make 
you some lemonade, and you may have the oil stove 
in the barn and supply cocoa at twopence a cup.” 

“ May we sell sweets, Miss Beasley?” asked Ray- 
monde tentatively. 


246 The Madcap of the School 

“Well — yes. I don’t see why you shouldn’t. 
You may put down chocolates with your order fof 
cakes and biscuits, if you like.” 

The delegates made a cheerful exit from the study, 
and hurried to communicate their good tidings to 
the rest of the Form. 

“O Jubilate! We’ll make a night of it!” com- 
mented Katherine. “The Bumble’s turned into 
an absolute honey-bee!” 

Great were the preparations for the event. 
Costumes had to be contrived — a difficult matter 
with only the school theatrical box to draw upon — 
and ten coons to be turned out in uniform garb. 
The usual stock properties, such as the brigand’s 
velvet jacket, the Admiral’s cocked hat, or the hunt- 
ing top-boots, were utterly useless, and the girls had 
to set their wits to work. They decided to wear 
their best white petticoats with white blouses, and 
to make hats out of stiff brown paper trimmed with 
rosettes of scarlet crinkled paper (obtainable at the 
village shop), using bands of the same scarlet for 
belts and ties. 

“Of course we’d rather have had real rush-hats 
and ribbons, but if you can’t get them you can’t, and 
there’s an end of it, and you must just make up 
your mind to do without!” said Raymonde philo- 
sophically. 

“ If I sing too hard I know I’ll burst my waist- 
band!” objected Morvyth, who always looked on 
the gloomy side of events. 

“Then don’t sing too hard, and don’t take any 
refreshments, if you’ve such an easily expanding 
figure!” snapped Raymonde. 

“We could stitch the crinkled paper over an 


The Coon Concert 


247 

ordinary belt, and then it wouldn’t break through,” 
suggested Valentine. 

‘ 4 Scarlet’s not my colour!” mourned Fauvette. 

“ Never mind, Baby, you look nice in anything!” 
returned Aveline soothingly. “And your white 
petticoat’s a perfect dream! I always said it was 
a shame to wear it under a dress.” 

The entertainment was to take place in the even- 
ing, after preparation, and on the afternoon of the 
day in question the Fifth Form took sole and 
absolute possession of the barn, turning everybody 
else out, even those indignant enthusiasts who were 
at work at the wood-carving bench. 

“Mind, our tools haven’t got to be touched, or 
we’ll have something to say!” called out Daphne 
as she made an unwilling exit. 

“I shall put them all in the box!” returned 
Morvyth, slamming the door. 

The wood-carving bench had to serve as refresh- 
ment table, so it was cleared with scant ceremony, 
in spite of Daphne’s protest ; a clean cloth, borrowed 
from the cook, was spread upon it, and plates of 
cakes and biscuits, and packets of chocolates, were 
laid out as attractively as possible, with vases of 
flowers between. 

Raymonde, who was nothing if not inventive, 
suddenly evolved a new and enterprising scheme. 

“We must have a platform!” she decided. 
“ Come along to the wood pile, and we’ll get some 
packing-cases and put railway sleepers over them. 
It won’t take us long!” 

It turned out a more strenuous business than 
she had anticipated, however, for it was difficult 
in the first place to find packing-cases of the 


248 The Madcap of the School 

same height, and more difficult still to get the rail- 
way sleepers to fit neatly together on the top of 
them. 

“ I hope it’ll hold up!” said Aveline dubiously, 
when the erection was at last complete. 

“ Oh, it’ll just have to hold!” returned Raymonde 
in her airiest manner. “I think it’s nicer than a 
stiff platform, and more suitable for a barn. It 
looks really ‘coony’, and suggests the Wild West, 
and log-cabins, and all that sort of thing.” 

Immediately after preparation, the coons retired 
to make final arrangements in the barn. The big 
stable lanterns were lighted and hung up for pur- 
poses of illumination, and a cauldron of water was 
set upon the oil cooking-stove. It was a horrible 
scramble, for time was short, and they still had to 
change their dresses. Everyone seemed in every- 
body else’s way, and each gave directions to the 
others, though nobody was in authority, and all got 
decidedly cross and snapped at one another. 

“ It’s not an atom of use sticking up that lantern 
unless you fill it first,” urged Valentine. “I tell 
you it’s almost empty, and won’t burn twenty 
minutes. You don’t want to perform in the dark, 
I suppose?” 

“ It ought to have been filled before!” grumbled 
Ardiune. “ Here, give me the paraffin can.” 

“ Take care what you’re doing! You’re slopping 
into the cauldron!” 

“ I’m not!” 

“But I saw you! We shall have to empty out 
the cauldron and wash it and refill it.” 

“Nonsense!” interfered Raymonde. “There 
isn’t time. Val, is that lantern finished? Then 


The Coon Concert 


249 


hang it up, and come along and dress. We shall 
have everybody arriving before we’re half ready.” 

Almost every amateur concert begins late, and 
this was no exception to the rule. By the time the 
coons had scrambled into their costumes, and Fau- 
vette had got her best lace-trimmed white petticoat 
fastened adequately on to her blouse with safety- 
pins, and Katherine had adjusted her tie to her 
satisfaction, and Muriel had induced her paper hat 
to tilt at the right angle on her head, the audience 
was clamouring for admission at the door of the 
barn, and making moral remarks on the subject of 
punctuality. 

“We’re awfully sorry,” panted Raymonde in 
excuse, undoing the padlock which the coons had 
left fastened, and allowing the school to tramp 
into the place of entertainment. “Your shillings, 
please! Yes, we’re taking the money first thing, 
instead of handing round the plate in the interval. 
Where’s the Bumble?” 

“Just coming now, with Gibbie and Ma’m’selle.” 

The barn with its dark rafters, stable lanterns, 
and improvised benches, certainly looked a most 
appropriate setting for a plantation programme, 
and Miss Beasley glanced round with amused in- 
terest on her arrival. She and the other mistresses 
were escorted to special posts of honour, and the 
performance began without further delay. Every- 
body admired the costumes; the red-and-white 
effect was quite charming, especially when worn 
by all ten alike, and the paper hats with their big 
rosettes gave a coquettish appearance that added 
to the piquancy of the songs. There could, of 
course, be no piano accompaniment, but the girls 


250 The Madcap of the School 

made up for it by a liberal clashing of cymbals, 
rattling of castanets, and jingling of tambourines. 
They were as 1 i cute” and “coony” as they knew 
how to be, putting a great deal of action into the 
songs, and adding a few comic asides. At Ray- 
monde’s suggestion, they had decided during the 
performance of “The Darkies’ Frolic” to dance a 
lively kind of combined fox-trot and cake-walk 
measure to illustrate the words. They had prac- 
tised it carefully beforehand, and considered it the 
piece de resistance of the evening. But alas! they 
had not calculated on the difference between the 
firm floor of the barn and the extremely shaky 
erection on which they were perched. They were 
only half-way through, and were capering in most 
approved darky fashion, when the middle packing- 
case which supported the planks suddenly gave 
way, and the platform collapsed. Some of the girls 
sprang off in time, but several went down among 
the ruins, and were rescued by the agitated mis- 
tresses, fortunately without real injuries, though 
there were scratches and bruises, and at least half 
a yard of lace was torn from Fauvette’s best petti- 
coat. 

As “The Darkies’ Frolic” was the last item but 
one in the first half of the programme, and the 
performers were naturally ruffled by their unex- 
pected accident, Miss Beasley suggested that they 
had better have the interval at once, and soothe 
their feelings with cakes and cocoa before resuming 
the entertainment. The little spread on the wood- 
carving bench looked attractive; the Stores had 
sent a tempting selection of cakes, and the audience 
was quite ready for refreshment. Ardiune, pre- 


25 « 


The Coon Concert 

siding at the cauldron, mixed cups of cocoa as 
speedily as possible, and handed them out in ex- 
change for twopences. At the first sip, however, 
an expression of acute disgust spread itself over 
the countenance of each consumer. 

“Whew!” choked Hermie. “ What’s the matter 
with the stuff? It’s simply atrocious!” 

“It tastes of paraffin!” proclaimed Veronica, 
pulling a wry face. 

“ There! I told you so!” whispered Valentine to 
Ardiune. “You have just gone and done it this 
time!” 

There was no doubt about the matter. The con- 
tents of the cauldron were quite undrinkable, and 
the girls had to fall back on the small quantity of 
lemonade which the cook had provided. It was a 
most mortifying experience, especially happening 
just after the failure of the platform. The Sixth 
were looking amused and superior, the juniors were 
grumbling, and Miss Beasley was saying “Never 
mind, so long as we help the blinded soldiers;” 
which was kind, but not altogether comforting. 
The audience made up for the lack of cocoa by 
their consumption of confectionery, and went on 
buying till not a solitary cake or packet of choco- 
late was left upon the bench. 

The second half of the programme had to be 
performed upon the floor, but went off nevertheless 
in quite good style and with much flourish of in- 
struments. Fauvette, with her torn lace hurriedly 
pinned up, piped a pretty little solo about “picca- 
ninnies” and “ole mammies”; Aveline and Kathe- 
rine gave a spirited duet, and the troupe in general 
roared choruses with great vigour. Everybody 


252 The Madcap of the School 

decided that the evening — barring the cocoa — had 
been a great success. The proceeds, in particular, 
were highly satisfactory. 

“One pound ten shillings I” announced Ray- 
monde. “Just count it over, somebody, please, 
to make sure I’m right! I don’t call that half bad 
for a Form concert. If the others do as well, we 
shall have quite a nice sum. Shall I give it to the 
Bumble now?” 

“She’s gone upstairs. Besides, I believe it’s 
Gibbie who’s going to send off the money. You’d 
better keep it till the others have had their enter- 
tainments, and it can all be handed in together.” 

“Righto! I’ll take it and lock it up in my 
drawer. I say, it was awful fun being coons, 
wasn’t it?” 

“Top-hole!” agreed the others. 


CHAPTER XXI 


The Blinded Soldiers’ Fund 

The examinations were drawing most horribly and 
imminently near, and the Fifth Form, feeling them- 
selves for the most part ill prepared for the ordeal, 
were shivering in anticipation. Armed with text- 
books, they made desperate efforts to pull up 
arrears, and stock their brains with an assortment 
of necessary facts. Ardiune crammed dates at every 
available moment, Morvyth studied the map of 
Europe, Valentine devoted herself to Virgil, and 
Magsie wept over French verbs, while the rest tried 
to fill up any educational gaps and holes where 
they knew they were lacking. The image of the 
Rev. T. W. Beasley, M.A. loomed large on the 
horizon, and his advent was hardly regarded with 
pleasure. 

“ I know I’ll be scared to death!” moaned Ave- 
line. “ If there are any viva voces I shall break 
down altogether. I know I shall! Directly he 
looks at me and asks a question, every single idea 
will go bang out of my head!” 

“ It doesn’t matter how well you know things if 
you’re nervous!” agreed Katherine. 

“I hate the written exams.!” groaned Raymonde. 
‘‘They’re so long, and one gets so inky, and one’s 
268 


254 The Madcap of the School 

hand grows so stiff. I never can express myself 
well on paper. Gibbie says I’ve no gift for com- 
position.” 

“ There aren’t any J pens left in the cupboard,” 
volunteered Maudie. ‘ ‘And Ma’m’selle says it’s 
not worth while sending for more just at the end 
of the term, and we must use Waverleys for the 
exam. There’s a whole boxful of those.” 

“Oh, what a shame! I can’t write with a 
Waverley!” protested Raymonde in much indig- 
nation. “It’ll spoil my whole exam. I call that 
tyranny! Look here! I’m not going to be done! 
I shall send for a fountain pen with a broad nib. 
I saw one advertised in a magazine.” 

“The Bumble won’t let you.” 

“ I shan’t ask her!” 

“Then how’ll you get it?” 

“Oh, trust me! I’ll manage it somehow. I’m 
not generally easily circumvented when I set my 
mind upon anything. I’ve a plan already.” 

“Have you? What is it?” 

“Ah, that would be telling!” laughed Ray- 
monde. “Perhaps my pen will come floating in 
through the window!” 

“You mad creature! I don’t believe you’ll 
really get it!” 

“Wait and see!” 

The Fifth Form possessed a little upstairs room 
at the Grange which they called their sanctum. It 
held a piano, and was mainly used for practising, 
but the girls sometimes studied there out of pre- 
paration hours. Its principal article of furniture 
was a large, old-fashioned bureau, which Miss 
Beasley had bought among other things when she 


255 


The Blinded Soldiers’ Fund 

took over the house. She had given every girl in 
the Form one of its drawers, together with a key, so 
that each could have a place in which to keep any 
special treasures locked up. 

As Raymonde sat in the sanctum that afternoon 
alone, trying to apply her mind to memorizing 
certain axioms of Euclid, Veronica came bustling 
in. 

“You here, Ray? Miss Beasley wants some 
change to pay the laundry. You’ve got the money 
you collected at your coon concert last night; can 
you let her have thirty shillings in silver, and she’ll 
give you notes instead?” 

“Certainly,” replied Raymonde, rising at once 
and unlocking her drawer in the bureau. “Here 
you are — four half-crowns make ten shillings, eight 
shillings is eighteen, and twenty-four sixpences 
make thirty shillings altogether. I’d just as soon 
have notes.” 

“ Righto!” said Veronica. “ I’ll bring them up 
to you later on, or send somebody with them. I 
hope our entertainment will do as well as yours. 
By the by, a queer thing happened just this minute. 

I saw the ghost girl again!” 

“Where?” asked Raymonde excitedly. 

“ Peeping round the corner of the winding stair- 
case; but she vanished instantly. I went up a few 
steps, but couldn’t see her. The wire door was 
open, and I very nearly ran up to the attic to 
investigate, but I knew Miss Beasley was waiting 
for the change. I must rush and give it to her 
now, or there’ll be squalls. Ta-ta!” 

Raymonde did not either lock up her drawer or 
resume her Euclid. She stood for a moment or two 


256 The Madcap of the School 

pondering. Then a mischievous light broke over 
her face, and she clapped her hands. 

“ Splendiferous! I’ll do it!” she said aloud; 
and, whisking out of the room, she ran up the wind- 
ing staircase, and through the open wire door into 
the forbidden but fascinating territory of the attics. 

The girls at the Grange were obliged to keep 
strictly to their practising time-table, and Ray- 
monde was due at the piano in the sanctum from 
5.30 until 6.15. At 5.40, which was fully ten 
minutes late, the strains of her Beethoven Sonata 
began to resound down the passage. Mademoiselle, 
passing from her bedroom, stood for a moment to 
listen. She was impressed by the fact that Ray- 
monde was playing much better than usual, and 
performing in quite a stylish fashion the passage 
which usually baffled her. She almost opened the 
door to congratulate her pupil, but being in a hurry 
changed her mind, and ran downstairs instead. A 
little later Veronica, also in much haste, entered 
the room arm-in-arm with Hermie. 

“Miss Beasley has sent the notes, Ray,” she 
explained. “You needn’t stop. I’ll just pop them 
inside your drawer, and you can put them away 
properly when you’ve finished practising.” 

The figure at the piano did not turn her head, or 
attempt to reply, but went on diligently with the 
scherzo movement of the Sonata, bringing out her 
chords crisply, and executing some quite brilliant 
runs. 

“ Raymonde’s improving enormously in her 
music,” commented Hermie, as the two monitresses 
went back along the passage. 

“Yes,” agreed Veronica. “And how remark- 


The Blinded Soldiers’ Fund 257 

ably pretty she looked to-night! Her hair was 
quite curly, and she had such a lovely colour. Did 
you notice?’' 

“That room’s so dark, I can’t say I did, particu- 
larly. Ray’s not bad looking, though I don’t call 
her exactly a beauty!” 

“She looked a beauty this evening! Fauvette 
will have to mind her laurels ! She’s always been 
the belle of the Form until now.” 

When Maudie Heywood, in accordance with the 
practising time-table, came at 6.15 to claim the 
piano, she found the sanctum unoccupied. Ray- 
monde’s drawer in the bureau was shut and locked. 
This fact Maudie noticed almost automatically. 
At the moment it seemed a matter of no conse- 
quence, though in the light of after events it was to 
assume a greater importance than she could have 
imagined. 

Raymonde turned up late for preparation, look- 
ing hot and conscious, and with her brown serge 
dress only half fastened. She gave no excuse for 
her lack of punctuality, and took her loss of order 
mark with stoicism. 

“What were you doing?” whispered Aveline, 
when the evening work was over and the books 
were being put away. 

Raymonde’s head was inside her desk. She 
drew it out, and seemed on the point of uttering 
a confidence. Then, suddenly changing her mind, 
she stooped again to arrange her papers. 

“Little girls shouldn’t ask questions!” she 
grunted. 

“Oh, very well!” flared Aveline, who was very 
easily offended. “I’m sure you needn’t tell me 

(0 887) 17 


258 The Madcap of the School 

anything if you don’t want to, thanks! I shan’t 
force your silly secrets from you!” 

“You certainly won’t!” snapped Raymonde, as 
Aveline flounced away. 

There was no time for further bickering. The 
juniors were giving their gymnastic and dancing 
display in the lecture hall, and Miss Beasley had 
announced that she wished the entertainment to 
begin promptly. 

“That’s a shot at us!” sniggered Ardiune. “I 
know the Coons started late, but we really couldn’t 
help it. It took me ages to help Fauvette into her 
costume, not to speak of getting into my own as 
well. The Fourth are only performing in their gym. 
dresses, so it’s easy enough for them to be punctual. 
I’ll stump up my shilling cheerfully for the sake of 
the blind Tommies, but I don’t expect much of a 
show for my money’s worth.” 

“ No more do I,” agreed Katherine. “ I’m fed 
up with Swedish drill. I confess my interest 
centres in the refreshments.” 

After all, the Fifth were agreeably surprised at 
the achievements of the performers. The juniors 
had been practising in private under the instruc- 
tion of Miss Ward, the visiting athletics mistress, 
and had quite a novel little programme to present 
to their schoolfellows. They exhibited some re- 
markably neat skipping drill, and also some 
charming Russian and Polish peasant dances, and 
a variety of military exercises that would almost 
have justified their existence as a Ladies’ Volunteer 
Corps. It was a patriotic evening, with much 
waving of flags and allusions to King and Country. 
Even the refreshments were in keeping, for the table 


The Blinded Soldiers’ Fund 


259 


was decorated with red white and blue streamers, 
and there were on sale little packets of chocolates 
wrapped up in representations of the Union Jack. 
The cocoa on this occasion was immaculate, and 
everything was served with the utmost dainti- 
ness. 

“ Quite a decent business for the kids!” com- 
mented Ardiune, “ but not half the fun of our coon 
performance !” 

“ It was ripping in the barn!” agreed Morvyth. 

There remained one more entertainment in aid of 
the Blinded Soldiers’ Fund, that of the Sixth Form, 
which was expected by everybody to be the best. 
Miss Beasley had thrown it open to outsiders, and 
some of the ladies who attended the geology lectures 
had promised to come and bring friends. In view 
of this augmented audience the performers made 
extra-special efforts. They held frequent rehearsals 
with closed doors, and took elaborate pains to pre- 
vent impertinent juniors from obtaining the least 
information as to their plans. The wildest notions 
circulated round the school. It was rumoured that 
a musical comedy was to be presented, the male 
parts being taken by professional actors specially 
engaged from London for the occasion; then that, 
failing the professionals, Miss Beasley and Miss 
Gibbs had consented to play the two heroes, and 
might be expected to appear in tights, with flowered 
waistcoats and cocked hats. In the imagination of 
the gossipmongers Professor Marshall, as a Greek 
tragedian, and Mr. Browne, garbed as a highway- 
man, were to be added to the list of artists. It was 
even whispered that the Reverend T. W. Beasley, 
M.A., who was booked to arrive on Monday, had 


260 The Madcap of the School 

consented to come earlier, for the purpose of joining 
in the festivities, and would appear in the character 
of a humorist, and give some wonderful exhibitions 
of lightning changes of costume and ventriloquism. 
The uncertainty as to what might be expected 
certainly enhanced the pleasure of anticipation. 
Not a girl would have missed this performance for 
worlds. 

The Sixth kept their secret well. Not a word 
leaked out as to the true nature of the programme. 
Meta, indeed, went about with rather mincing steps, 
while Veronica seemed to affect a truculent atti- 
tude; but whether this was the result of learning 
parts, or was put on with deliberate intention to 
deceive, the wide-awake members of the Fifth could 
not determine. 

The entertainment was to be held on Saturday, 
when, as there was no preparation, the whole even- 
ing could be devoted to amusement. It was an- 
nounced to begin at 6 p.m., with box office open at 
5.45. The school turned up with prompt punc- 
tuality, and would have scrambled for the door, if 
Barbara, seated at the receipt of custom, had not 
insisted upon their forming an orderly and orthodox 
queue. She took their shillings in a business-like 
manner. 

“Programmes — hand painted — sixpence each. 
Please buy one for the good of the cause!” she 
added. 

The programmes, produced in Linda’s and 
Hermie’s best style, were attractive. Each had a 
different picture upon its cover, and all were tied 
up with white satin ribbon. The girls opened them 
eagerly, and read: 


The Blinded Soldiers’ Fund 261 


MARLOWE GRANGE 


Dramatic Performance in Aid of the Blinded Soldiers’ Fund. 
Scenes from The Rivals, by Sheridan. 


Cast 


Sir Anthony Absolute 
Captain Absolute ... 

Faulkland 

Bob Acres 

Mrs. Malaprop 
Lydia Languish 
Lucy 


Veronica Terry. 
Hermione Graveson. 
Daphne Johnstone. 
Barbara Rowlands. 
Linda Mottram. 
Meta Wright. 

Lois Barlow. 


“So the Bumble and Gibbie aren’t in it, after 
all!” whispered Aveline. “ I never thought they 
would be, nor the Professor, nor Mr. Browne either, 
and certainly not Mr. Beasley! It promises to be 
decent.” 

“ Hope they’ll begin promptly!” murmured Mor- 
vyth. “ I say, Barbara, isn’t it time you began to 
dress?” 

“ I don’t come on till the second scene,” ex- 
plained Barbara, “so I can change while they’re 
acting the first. That’s why they put me as door- 
keeper. Go back to your seats. Visitors are 
arriving.” 

The two front rows had been reserved for out- 
siders, and presently began to be filled by those 
who had bought tickets. Miss Beasley and Miss 
Gibbs took their places, Mademoiselle played an 
introductory fantasia upon the piano, and the 
curtains were drawn aside. 

There was no doubt about the play being amusing; 
from first to last the audience was convulsed. The 


262 The Madcap of the School 

actresses threw themselves admirably into their 
parts, and rendered their characters with the utmost 
spirit. Veronica, well padded with pillows, made 
a stout and presentable Sir Anthony Absolute, and 
played the autocratic parent to the life. Hermie, 
with blue cloak, sword, and military stride, en- 
deavoured to live up to her conception of an eigh- 
teenth-century buck, and made love with a fervour 
that was all the more enhanced by the sight of Miss 
Gibbs in the front row, sitting with pursed-up lips 
and straightened back. Meta, as Lydia Languish, 
sighed, wept, made eyes, and indulged in a perfect 
orgy of sentiment, while Lois acted the cheeky 
maidservant with enthusiasm. The best of all, 
however, was Mrs. Malaprop; Linda had seen the 
play on the real stage, and reproduced a famous 
actress to the utmost of her ability. Her absurd 
manners and amusing mistakes sent the room into 
a roar, and she occasionally had to wait for quiet 
until she could continue her speeches. 

Everybody voted the evening a huge success. 
The visitors heartily congratulated Miss Beasley 
upon the cleverness of her elder pupils, and hoped 
they would sometimes give another open per- 
formance. The girls clapped till their hands were 
sore. Even Miss Gibbs, though she considered 
that the love-making had exceeded the limit allow- 
able in school theatricals, expressed guarded ap- 
proval. 

“We’ve cleared two pounds three and sixpence!” 
announced Barbara gleefully to the Fifth. 

“Good!” exclaimed Valentine. “And we made 
one pound ten, and the kids one pound seven. 
What does it tot up to?” 


The Blinded Soldiers’ Fund 263 

“ Five pounds and sixpence,” calculated Barbara 
after a moment’s scribbling on the back of a pro- 
gramme. 

“Well, I call it a very decent result for a school 
of only twenty-six girls!” 


CHAPTER XXII 

An Accusation 


On the following Monday afternoon the Reverend 
T. W. Beasley arrived in readiness to begin, on 
Tuesday morning, his task of examining the school. 
There was great fluttering in the dove-cot, and 
much anxiety on the part of the girls to catch the 
first glimpse of him. They had decided that, as 
the brother of their good-looking Principal, he 
would be tall, fair, and clean-shaven, with classical 
features, gentle blue eyes, and a soft, persuasive 
manner — the ideal clergyman, in fact, of the story- 
book, who lives in a picturesque country rectory 
and cultivates roses. To their disappointment he 
was nothing of the sort, but turned out to be a 
short, broad-set little man, with a grey beard and 
moustache, and keen dark eyes under bushy eye- 
brows, and a prominent nose that was the very 
reverse of romantic. He cleared his throat fre- 
quently in a nervous fashion, and when he spoke 
he snapped out his remarks abruptly, in a very 
deep voice that seemed to rise almost out of his 
boots. 

“He isn’t half as nice as Professor Marshall!” 
decided the Fifth unanimously. 

“Looks as if he had a temper!” ventured Fau- 
vette. 


An Accusation 


265 


“Oh! it’s cruelty to give us viva voces! I’ll 
never dare to answer a question!” wailed Aveline. 

“ I’m afraid he’ll be strict,” admitted Katherine. 

“Perhaps he’s nervous too, and scared of us!” 
suggested Morvyth. 

“Don’t you believe it!” laughed Raymonde 
scornfully. “ I flatter myself I’m pretty good at 
reading faces, and I can see at a glance he’s a 
martinet. That frown gives him away, and the 
kind of glare he has in his eyes. I’m a believer 
in first impressions, and I knew in a second I 
wasn’t going to like him.” 

Aveline sighed dramatically. 

“ It’s rough on a poor young girl in her early 
teens to be put through an ordeal by a stern and 
elderly individual who’ll have absolutely no con- 
sideration for her feelings.” 

“Feelings! You’ll have your head snapped 
off!” prophesied Raymonde. 

“Why couldn’t the Bumble have examined us 
herself, or at any rate let the Professor do it?” 

“Ask me a harder, child!” 

“Well, I think it’s very unnecessary to have this 
Mr. Beasley. Bumble Bee, indeed! He’s a regular 
hornet!” 

Whatever the private opinion of the Fifth might 
be on the subject of their examiner, they were 
obliged to hide their injured feelings under a cloak 
of absolute propriety. The reverend visitor was a 
solid fact, and all the grumbling in the world could 
not remove the incubus of his presence. At nine 
o’clock on Tuesday morning he would begin his 
inquisition, and the girls judged that there would 
be scant mercy for any sinner who failed to reach 


266 The Madcap of the School 

the required standard. A terrible atmosphere of 
gloomy convention pervaded the school. Miss 
Beasley was anxious for her pupils to appear at 
their very best before her scholarly brother, whose 
ideal of maidenly propriety was almost mediaeval, 
and she kept a keen eye on their behaviour. Nobody 
dared to speak at meal-times, except a whispered 
request for such necessary articles as salt and 
butter; laughter was out of the question, and even 
a smile was felt to be inappropriate. The girls 
sat subdued and demure, outwardly the pink of 
propriety, but inwardly smouldering, and listened 
obediently while the visitor, mindful of his educa- 
tional position in the establishment, held forth upon 
subjects calculated to improve their minds. 

“ I don’t believe Gibbie likes him either!” opined 
Katherine, after Monday night’s supper. 

“Of course not! He beats her on her own 
ground. As for the Bumble, she’s quite distraught. 
She keeps glancing at us as if she expected some- 
body all the time to spill her tea, or break a plate, 
or pull a face, or do something dreadful. We’re 
not usually an ill-behaved set!” 

“He’s getting on my nerves!” complained 
Aveline. 

“The place is more like a reformatory than a 
school!” growled Morvyth. 

When the post-bag arrived on Tuesday morning, 
it contained, among other letters and parcels, a 
small narrow packet directed to Miss R. Armitage. 
Miss Gibbs, whose business it was to overlook her 
pupils’ correspondence, was in a particular hurry, 
as it happened, and inclined for once to scamp her 
duties. 


An Accusation 


267 


“ What’s this, Raymonde?” she asked perfunc- 
torily. ‘‘A fountain pen, did you say? For the 
exams.? I suppose your mother has sent it. There 
are two letters for Aveline and one for Morvyth. 
You may take them to them, and tell Daphne I 
want to speak to her.” 

Raymonde did not stop for further interrogation. 
She beat as speedy a retreat as possible, delivered 
the message and the letters, and finished unpack- 
ing her parcel. Her Form mates, more inquisitive 
than Miss Gibbs, gathered round her and began 
to catechize. 

“What have you got there?” 

“ Did it come by the post?” 

“Why, it’s a fountain pen, isn’t it?” 

“Who sent it to you?” 

“ Did you buy it, then?” 

“ It looks a jolly nice one!” 

“ Is it full, or empty?” 

“Don’t talk all at once, children !” commanded 
Raymonde loftily. “ I’ll answer your questions in 
proper order, so just behave yourselves! 

“ 1. It is a fountain pen, as anybody with half an 
eye could see ! 

“2. It came by the post. 

“3. Nobody sent it to me. 

“4. I bought it. 

“5. It is a jolly nice one. 

“6. I have reason to believe it is empty. I’m 
going to fill it out of Fauvette’s bottle.” 

“Cheek!” returned Fauvette, allowing her friend 
to help herself to the Swan ink, however. “What 
puzzles me, is how you managed to buy it.” 

“Your little head, Baby, is easily puzzled,” 


268 The Madcap of the School 

smiled Raymonde serenely. “ It’s meant to wear 
fluffy curls, and not to engage itself in abstruse 
problems. I don’t advise you to worry yourself 
over this, unless you can turn it to some account. 
If the Hornet should ask you for an original ex- 
ample, you might begin: i Let A represent a foun- 
tain pen, and B my schoolmate, C standing for an 
unknown quantity ’ ” 

Fauvette, at this point, placed her hand over her 
chum’s mouth. 

“Stop it!” she begged beseechingly. “ If I get 
any of those wretched A B and C questions I’ll 
collapse, and disgrace the Form. I’ve many weak 
points, but mathematics are absolutely my weakest 
of all. If you frighten me any more, I shan’t have 
the courage to walk into the exam. room. Do I 
look presentable? Are my hands clean? And is 
my hair decent?” 

“You look so much more than presentable that 
anybody but a hardened brute of an examiner would 
be bowled over by you utterly and entirely.” 

“ I’m sure he hasn’t any feelings, so it’s no use 
trying to work upon them,” said Fauvette plain- 
tively. 

“Joking apart, Ray, where did you get that 
fountain pen?” asked Morvyth. 

Raymonde’s eyes twinkled. 

“ Little flower, could I tell you that, 

I ’d tell you my heart’s secret with it I” 

she misquoted. 

“ But do tell me! I think you might!” 

“The more you tease, the less you’ll find out!” 

The school bell put an end to the conversation, 


An Accusation 


269 


and the girls, with straightened faces, marched to 
their places in the big lecture hall. The Reverend 
T. W. Beasley had taken full command of the 
examinations, and had introduced several inno- 
vations. On former occasions each Form had sat 
and written in its own room, but now desks had 
been placed for the whole school together, and 
were so arranged that the Forms sat alternately, 
a junior being sandwiched between each senior. 
The girls were hugely insulted. “ He suspects 
we’ll copy each other’s papers!” thought Raymonde, 
and flashed her indignation along to Aveline. She 
did not speak, but her expressive glance drew forth 
a reproof from the examiner. He cleared his throat. 

“Any girl communicating either by speech or 
otherwise will be dismissed from the room!” he 
announced freezingly. 

After that, the girls scarcely dared to look up 
from their papers. They studied their questions 
and wrote away, some fast and furiously, and 
others with the desponding leisure of those having 
very little to put down. Mr. Beasley sat upon the 
platform, toying with his watch-chain, and keeping 
his eye upon the movements of the candidates. 
Fauvette, finishing long before the others, ventured 
to raise her eyes as high as his boots, and let them 
rest there, marvelling at the size and thickness of 
the footgear, and congratulating herself that she 
could wear number three. 

The morning wore itself slowly away. When 
the school compared notes at 12.30, the girls agreed 
that they had never in their lives before been given 
such an atrocious and detestable set of examination 
papers. The Sixth had fared as badly as the Fifth 


270 The Madcap of the School 

or the juniors, and even monitresses were loud in 
their complaints. Certain viva voces taken in the 
afternoon confirmed their ill opinion of their 
examiner. 

“He glares at one till one’s frightened out of 
one’s wits!” 

“And he hurries so — one hasn’t time to answer!” 

“And he takes things in quite a different way 
from what Gibbie does.” 

“ He’s no need to be sarcastic!” 

“Sarcastic, did you say? I call him downright 
rude!” 

“ He evidently doesn’t think much of our in- 
tellects!” 

“ Well, we don’t think much of him, anyway!” 

“ I believe he uses pomatum on his hair,” con- 
fided Fauvette in a shocked whisper. 

“ My dear, I believe it’s bear’s grease!” corrected 
Morvyth scornfully. 

“This is the most painful week I’ve ever had to 
go through in all my life,” bleated Aveline. “ Even 
if I live through it — and that’s doubtful — I shall be 
a nervous wreck. They’ll have to send me for a 
rest cure during the holidays. I’m not accustomed 
to be cross-questioned as if I were a criminal in the 
dock!” 

“ It’s a witness, child, you mean,” amended Ray- 
monde. “ Criminals don’t generally give evidence 
against themselves. But we understand you, all 
the same ! For two pins I’d sham utter ignorance, 
and give him some very surprising answers. Yes, 
I would, if Gibbie or the Bumble didn’t stick in the 
room the whole time ! That’s the worst of it. They’d 
know in a second that I was only having him on.” 


An Accusation 


271 


As the week progressed, the school considered 
itself more and more ill-used. The fact was that 
the Reverend T. W. Beasley was accustomed to 
university students, and could not focus his mind 
to the intellectual range of girls of thirteen to seven- 
teen. Moreover, he was by nature a reformer. He 
liked to give others the benefit of his advice, and 
he had much to say in private to his sister upon 
the subject of her pupils’ lessons and general 
management. Perhaps poor Miss Beasley had not 
expected quite so much criticism. She was accus- 
tomed, nevertheless, to defer to her brother’s 
opinions, and she listened with due humility, 
though with much inward perturbation, while he 
laid down the law upon the education of women. 
Miss Gibbs, who was a born fighter, was inclined to 
argue — a disastrous policy, which so nearly ended 
in what are generally termed “words”, that her 
Principal was obliged to ask her (privately) to allow 
the visitor to state his views uninterrupted. 

The school was so taken up with the stern busi- 
ness on hand, that such delights as coon concerts 
and theatricals were quite in the background. On 
Thursday afternoon, however, Veronica sought out 
Raymonde. 

“I want your money for the Blinded Soldiers’ 
Fund,” she said. “ I’ve given in ours, and so have 
the juniors. Miss Beasley says when she has it all 
she’ll write a cheque for the amount, and send it to 
the secretary.” 

“ But Miss Beasley has our money already,” 
objected Raymonde. “ Don’t you remember? She 
said she wanted some change, and you came and 
asked me for it.” 


272 The Madcap of the School 

“So I did, and brought you back notes in- 
stead.” 

Raymonde shook her head. 

“You certainly didn’t.” 

“What nonsense, Ray! You know I brought 
them,” protested Veronica indignantly. “You 
were practising, and I said: ‘Don’t stop, I’ll put 
them inside your drawer.’ Hermie was with me at 
the time.” 

A conscious look spread over Raymonde’s face. 
She blushed hotly. 

“Was it last Friday?” she asked quickly. 

“Of course it was Friday. The notes must be 
in your drawer. Have you the key? Then come 
along, and we’ll go and find them.” 

Raymonde unwillingly followed Veronica up- 
stairs. Her manner was embarrassed in the ex- 
treme. She unlocked her drawer in the bureau, 
and turned out the possessions she had there, but 
no notes were among them. 

“What’s become of them?” demanded Veronica 
sharply. 

“ I — I really don’t know!” faltered Raymonde. 

“ Then you must find out. As treasurer for your 
Form, you are responsible.” 

“You’re sure you put them in my drawer, and not 
in anybody else’s?” 

“ Certain. It was the bottom one on the right- 
hand side, and it was open just as you left it when 
you gave me the silver. I couldn’t be mistaken.” 

Raymonde flung herself down on a chair, and 
buried her face in her hands. 

“ I want to think,” she murmured. 

Veronica gazed at her with growing suspicion. 


An Accusation 


273 

“I’m sorry, but it’s my duty to report this to 
Miss Beasley,” she remarked freezingly. 

“Oh, no, please!” pleaded Raymonde, starting 
up in great agitation. “Can’t you give me just 
a few days, and then — well perhaps it will be all 
right. Leave it over till Saturday.” 

“ It will be all wrong!” said the monitress sternly. 
“ I can’t understand you, Raymonde, for either 
you have the money or you haven’t. If you have, 
you must hand it over; and if you haven’t, we’ve 
got to find out where it’s gone. That’s flat! So 
come along with me at once to the study.” 

The Principal, on being told the facts of the case, 
was astonished and distressed. 

“There may possibly be some misunderstand- 
ing,” she urged. “ Before anybody is accused we 
will make sure that the notes were not placed in a 
wrong drawer. Tell every member of the Fifth to 
come at once to the practising-room, and bring her 
keys. You will go upstairs with me, Raymonde.” 

Veronica’s message spread consternation through 
the Form. The girls trooped to the sanctum with 
scared faces. They found Miss Beasley there, 
looking very grave, and Raymonde, her eyes 
downcast and her mouth set in its most obstinate 
mould, standing by the bureau. 

“I wish you each to unlock your drawer in my 
presence,” said the Principal. “ The money col- 
lected at your concert is missing, and perhaps it 
may have been misplaced.” 

In dead silence the girls complied, every one in 
turn showing her possessions. There were cer- 
tainly no notes among them. Miss Beasley turned 
to Veronica. 

(0 887 ) 


18 


274 The Madcap of the School 

“What time was it when you took up the 
money?” 

“About five minutes to six, Miss Beasley. It 
was just before I went into preparation. Hermie 
was with me.” 

“ Did you leave the drawer open or shut?” 

“ I shut it, but did not lock it. Raymonde’s keys 
were dangling in it. I thought she would lock it 
for herself when she had finished practising.” 

“Who came into the room next? Maudie Hey- 
wood? Then, Maudie, did you notice the keys 
hanging in the drawer when you arrived at 6.15?” 

“ No, Miss Beasley, they were certainly not 
there.” 

“Thank you, girls, you may go now. Veronica, 
tell Hermie to go to my study and wait for me. 
Raymonde, you will stay here. I wish to speak to 
you alone.” 

The Principal waited until the door had closed 
on her other pupils, then turned to the white-faced 
little figure near the bureau. 

“ Raymonde, this is a sad business,” she said 
solemnly. “You had better confess at once that 
you have taken this money.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


A Mystery Unravelled 

Raymonde started, and faced the Principal with 
flaming eyes. 

“ I didn’t! I didn’t!” she protested. 

“Then where is it?” 

“That I don’t know.” 

“Perhaps you will explain,” continued Miss 
Beasley, watching her searchingly, “how it is that 
you were seen at Marlowe post office on Friday 
afternoon, and that you bought a postal order for 
twelve and sixpence. Oh, Raymonde, you may 
well blush! Mrs. West was calling only an hour 
ago, and told me that she had seen you in the shop- 
She asked if I knew about it, or if you had been 
there without leave. Why did you get a postal 
order?” 

Raymonde was silent for a moment. Then : 

“To send for a fountain pen,” she stammered. 

“You admit that you visited the post office? 
Now, I know that you had finished all your pocket- 
money. You drew the last of your allowance from 
me on the day of your concert.” 

“I had a pound-note of my own, put away in my 
handkerchief case. My uncle gave it to me last 
holidays.” 


2 76 The Madcap of the School 

“ If that is so, then where is the money for which 
you were treasurer?” 

‘ 4 1 don’t know.” 

“ Raymonde, I can’t believe such a story. You’re 
not telling me the truth!” 

“ Indeed, indeed I am!” burst out Raymonde. 
“Oh! what shall I do? I can’t explain, and I can’t 
say any more. If you’d only wait a few days!” 

“ Indeed I shall not wait,” returned the head- 
mistress coldly. “The matter must be investigated 
at once.” 

Miss Beasley, greatly upset by such a happening 
in her school, consulted her brother as to her best 
course to pursue. On learning the circumstances 
he took a very grave view of the case. 

“There’s little doubt of the girl’s guilt,” he de- 
clared. “ She evidently yielded to a sudden tempta- 
tion. She wanted a fountain pen in time for the 
examinations, and she borrowed the notes which 
had been left in her charge, in order to send for it. 
Probably she wrote home for more money, and 
expected to be able to replace it, and that is the 
explanation of her asking for a few days’ grace. It 
seems to me as clear as daylight, and I should deal 
with her as she deserves.” 

“May I ask one question?” said Miss Gibbs, who 
also had been called to the conclave. “ How *s it 
that Mrs. West affirms that she saw Raymonde in the 
post office at six o’clock on Friday, while Veronica 
and Hermie declare that at five minutes to six she 
was sitting at the piano in the practising-room? It 
is not possible to reach the village in five minutes.” 

Miss Beasley started. This aspect of the matter 
had not occurred to her. 


A Mystery Unravelled 277 

“ It’s very perplexing!” she murmured. 

“ Raymonde has been troublesome,” continued 
Miss Gibbs, “ but I have always found her scrupu- 
lously straight and truthful. Such a lapse as this 
seems to me utterly foreign to her character.” 

“You never know what a girl will do till she’s 
tried!” commented the Rev. T. W. Beasley. 
“ Better expel her at once, as a warning to the 
others.” 

“Give her a chance!” pleaded Miss Gibbs. 
“The evidence is really so unsatisfactory. Wait a 
day or two, and see if we can sift it!” 

“I wish I knew what is best!” vacillated the 
Principal. “ It is so near the end of the term that 
it seems a pity to send Raymonde home till next 
week, when she would be going in any case. I 
will call at the post office, and make enquiries as to 
the exact time she came there last Friday. I think 
I won’t decide anything before Saturday.” 

Miss Beasley stuck to this determination, in spite 
of her brother’s protests against over-leniency and 
lack of discipline. She excused herself on the 
ground that she did not wish to disturb the exami- 
nations, which were to continue until Friday even- 
ing. Meanwhile Raymonde was in the position 
of a remanded prisoner at the bar. She was not 
allowed to mingle with the rest of the school. She 
was conducted, under Mademoiselle’s escort, to her 
place in the examination hall, but spent the re- 
mainder of her time in the practising-room, which 
served as a temporary jail. Her meals were sent 
up to her, and no girl was allowed, under penalty 
of expulsion, to attempt to communicate with her. 
She was not permitted to go to the dormitory at 


278 The Madcap of the School 

night, but slept on a chair-bed in Miss Beasley’s 
dressing-room. 

Naturally the episode was the talk of the school. 
Its interest eclipsed even the horror of the exami- 
nations. It seemed a mystery which no one could 
disentangle. The girls remembered only too well 
that Raymonde had been very secretive about how 
she had obtained the fountain pen; but, on the other 
hand, witnesses declared that they had seen her 
both at the post office and in the practising-room, 
when she certainly could not have been in two 
places at once. 

The Fifth decided that the Reverend T. W. 
Beasley must be at the bottom of it. There had 
never been any disturbances before he came to the 
school, and since his arrival everything had been 
unpleasant, therefore he must be distinctly re- 
sponsible for Raymonde’s misfortunes; which was 
hardly a reasonable conclusion, however loyal it 
might be to their friend. The Mystics talked the 
matter over in private, and suggested many bold 
but quite impracticable schemes, such as subscrib- 
ing the missing money amongst them, or throwing 
up a rope-ladder to the sanctum window for Ray- 
monde to escape by, neither of which plans would 
have cleared her character. 

Raymonde herself preserved an extraordinary 
attitude of obstinacy. She utterly refused to give 
any more explanations. She did not cry, but there 
was a grey misery in her face that was worse than 
tears. She walked in and out of the examination 
hall with her head proudly erect. Her comrades, 
with surreptitious sympathy, glanced up as she 
passed, but under the lynx eye of their examiner 


A Mystery Unravelled 279 

were unable to convey to her the notes which 
several of them at least had prepared ready to pass 
under the desk. 

On Friday afternoon Raymonde was sitting alone 
in the practising-room, when the door was unlocked 
and Veronica entered with a tray. 

“ I’ve come to bring your tea,” explained the 
monitress. “ I don’t really know whether I’m sup- 
posed to be allowed to talk to you, but Miss Beasley 
didn’t tell me not to, so I shall. Look here, Ray, 
why don’t you end this wretched business?” 

“ I only wish I could!” groaned Raymonde. 

“ But you can. There’s something behind it all, 
I’m sure. Take my advice, and explain it to Miss 
Beasley. She’d be quite decent about it.” 

Raymonde shook her head sadly and silently. 

“Yes, she would, if you’d only confess. I can’t 
understand you, Ray. You were always a madcap, 
but you never did anything underhand or sneaky 
before; even when you were naughtiest you were 
quite square and above-board.” 

“Thank you!” smiled Raymonde faintly. 

“ I can’t think why you should have changed, 
and conceal everything! Ray, I appeal to your 
best side. You signed our Marlowe Grange League, 
and seemed quite enthusiastic about it at the time. 
Won’t you try to live up to it now?” 

Raymonde rose to her feet. In her eyes were 
two smouldering fires. 

“You can’t understand!” Her voice was trem- 
bling with passion. “ It’s exactly because I signed 
that paper and promised to be faithful to my 
friends and to speak the truth, that I’m in all this 
trouble. No, I tell you I won’t explain! If you 


280 The Madcap of the School 

think so badly of me that you won’t believe my 
word, it’s no use my speaking to you. Oh! I hate 
everybody, and I hate everything! I wish I could 
go home!” 

“ Better stay and clear things up!” said Veronica. 
“ If I could do anything for you, I would.” 

“Would you?” asked Raymonde with a flash 
of hope. “Could you possibly get a letter posted 
for me?” 

Veronica shook her head. 

“I daren’t!” she said briefly. “Miss Beasley 
trusted me to bring up your tea, and I mustn’t 
forget I’m a monitress. I shall have to tell her 
that I’ve been speaking to you. I ought to go 
now. Good-bye ! ” 

Raymonde drank her tea, but left the bread and 
butter untouched. She was not hungry, and her 
head ached. The whole of her gay, careless world 
seemed to have crumbled to ashes. She wondered 
what her chums were thinking of her. Did they, 
like Veronica, mistrust her conduct? She knew 
that her behaviour was extraordinary. A sense of 
utter desolation swept over her, and, pushing aside 
the tea things, she leaned her arms on the table, 
with her hot face pressed against them. 

From this despairing attitude she was aroused by 
Miss Gibbs, who five minutes later came to fetch 
the tray. 

“ Don’t give way, Raymonde!” said the mistress, 
laying quite a kindly hand on the girl’s shoulder. 
“There’s to be proper enquiry into this matter 
to-morrow, and I, for one, trust you’ll be able to 
clear yourself. Keep your self-control, and be pre- 
pared to answer any questions that are put to you 


A Mystery Unravelled 281 

then. Remember there’s nothing like courage and 
speaking the truth.” 

Raymonde raised herself slowly, hesitated for a 
moment, then fumbled in her pocket. 

“ Miss Gibbs,” she faltered, “ I’d love to tell you 
everything, but I can’t. I wonder if you’d trust me 
enough to send off this letter without opening it, or 
asking me what I’ve written in it?” 

The mistress took the envelope and examined it. 
It was addressed to Miss V. Chalmers, Haversedge 
Manor, near Byfield. She looked into Raymonde’s 
eyes as if she would read her very soul. Her pupil 
bore the scrutiny without flinching. 

“ It is a most unwarrantable thing to ask, but 
I will do it,” replied Miss Gibbs. “I hope my 
confidence in you will be justified.” 

At 9.30 on the following morning a trap arrived 
at the Grange to convey the Reverend T. W. 
Beasley and his Gladstone bag to the railway 
station. A row of heads peeping from behind the 
curtains in the upper windows watched him depart, 
and exhibited manifestations of intense satisfaction. 

“There! He’s actually gone!” 

“Only hope he won’t miss his train and come 
back!” 

“No, no! He’s in heaps of time, thank goodness!” 

“ Glad he isn’t staying the week-end!” 

“He’s got to preach somewhere in aid of some- 
thing on Sunday.” 

“ May he never come here again, that’s all!’ 

Perhaps in secret Miss Beasley was equally re- 
lieved. She had passed a strenuous week, and had 
possibly arrived at the conclusion that she was, on 
the whole, capable of arranging her own school to 


282 The Madcap of the School 

the satisfaction of herself and the parents of her 
pupils. She considered that she understood girls 
better than a bachelor university don, however 
great his literary attainments, could do. The ex- 
periment had not been altogether a success, and 
need not be repeated. She sighed as she waved 
a last good-bye and turned into the house. 

An urgent matter, which she had put off until her 
brother’s departure, must now claim her attention. 
She ordered the entire Fifth Form, together with 
Hermie and Veronica, to repair to the practising- 
room, where Raymonde was still kept prisoner. 

The girls marched in as quietly as if they were 
going to church. Their Principal sat by the table, 
with two little parallel lines of worry on her usually 
smooth forehead, and a grieved look in her grey 
eyes. 

‘ 4 It is very distressing to me to be obliged to 
make this enquiry,” she began, “ but it is absolutely 
necessary that we find out what has become of those 
missing notes. I put you all on your honour to 
tell me what you know. Can any girl throw any 
light on the matter?” 

She looked anxiously and wistfully round the 
little circle, but nobody replied. Raymonde sat with 
downcast eyes, and the old obstinate expression 
on her face. The eyes of all the other girls were 
focused upon her. 

“ I am most loath to accuse anyone of such a 
dreadful thing as taking money,” continued Miss 
Beasley, “but unless you can offer me some ex- 
planation, Raymonde, I shall be obliged to send 
you home. The facts look very black against you. 
You were treasurer, and cannot produce the funds; 


A Mystery Unravelled 283 

you were seen buying a postal order, and you 
received a handsome fountain pen by post.” 

“ If you please, Miss Beasley,” interposed 
Veronica, “how could Raymonde be buying a 
postal order when Hermie and I saw her practising 
here?” 

“It is most puzzling, I allow; but both Mrs. 
Sims the postmistress, and Mrs. West, who hap- 
pened to be buying groceries in the shop, agree 
emphatically that it was Raymonde who came to 
the counter. They say that she was not in school 
uniform, but wore a green dress and a small cap.” 

“ Raymonde has no green dress!” 

“ But she has admitted to me that she bought 
the postal order.” 

The girls looked at their chum in consternation. 
Raymonde buried her face in her hands. 

At this critical juncture there was the sound of 
a scrimmage outside in the passage, and a loud 
excited voice was heard proclaiming: 

“ I will go in! I tell you I’ve come to see Miss 
Raymonde Armitage, and it’s important. Miss 
Beasley there? All the better! I want to speak to 
her too. Will you kindly move out and let me 
pass? Oh, very well then — there!” 

The door opened with a forcible jerk, and a 
stranger entered unceremoniously. She was a 
damsel of perhaps fifteen, slim, and very pretty, 
with twinkling brown eyes and curly hair and coral 
cheeks. She wore an artistic dress of myrtle-green 
Liberty serge, with a picturesque muslin collar, and 
had a chain of Venetian beads round her white 
throat. 

The school gazed at her spellbound, almost aghast. 


284 The Madcap of the School 

“The ghost-girl!” murmured Veronica faintly 
sinking into a chair. 

“Violet!” exclaimed Raymonde in tones of 
ecstasy. 

“Yes, here I am, right enough!” announced the 
stranger. “Cycled over directly I read your letter. 
Stars and stripes ! You’ve got yourself into a jolly 
old mess! Hope they haven’t tortured you yet! 
I suppose they still use the rack and the thumb- 
screw in this benighted country? Cheero! We’ll 
pull you through somehow!” 

Then, catching the Principal’s amazed and out- 
raged expression, she continued: “Sorry! Are 
you Miss Beasley? I ought to have introduced 
myself. I do apologize! My name’s Violet 
Chalmers, and I’m an American.” 

She proclaimed the fact proudly, though her soft 
r in “American”, and slightly nasal intonation, 
would have established her nationality anyway. 

“ May I ask your errand?” said the head mistress 
rather stiffly. 

“Certainly. I’ve come to help Raymonde out 
of a scrape. I never dreamed she’d be landed in 
such a queer business as this. I say, Ray, will 
you explain, or shall I do the talking?” 

“You, please!” entreated Raymonde. 

“Well, as I’ve just said, I’m an American. We 
crossed the herring-pond just before the war started, 
and we’ve been stuck in this old country ever since. 
Before you all came to the Grange we rented the 
place for a year, and a time we had of it, too, with 
rats and bats, and burst pipes, and no central heat- 
ing or electric light! Mother went almost crazy! 
Well, last Easter, when I was staying at the sea- 


A Mystery Unravelled 285 

side, I met Raymonde, and we chummed no end. 
She told me that her school was moving in here, 
and I bet her a big box of Broad Street pop-corns 
I’d turn up some time in the house and astonish the 
girls. I only bargained that she wasn’t to let any 
of them know beforehand of my existence. Well, 
I guess I kept my word. I joined in a game of 
hide-and-seek one dark afternoon, and I reckon I 
passed off as a first-class ghost. Didn’t I chuckle, 
just! You wonder how I got in without anybody 
seeing me? Why, I’d discovered the secret passage 
that leads, from a sliding panel in the attic, right 
under the moat into a cave inside the wood.” 

“ Joyce Ferrers’ passage!” exclaimed the girls. 

“The very same. I rode over on my bicycle — 
we’re staying only eight miles away — left it inside 
the cave, lighted my lamp, and strolled up to the 
attic as easily as you please. There was the whole 
school tearing around like mad, so I scuttled round 
too, and scared you just some! It was so prime, 
I guessed I’d try it on again. That was yesterday 
week. I’d luck enough to catch Raymonde, and 
she was a sport that day too. We changed clothes, 
and I came downstairs here and did her practising 
for her, while she explored the secret passage and 
did a little shopping on her own account in the 
village.” 

“Then it was you, and not Raymonde, whom 
we saw sitting at the piano!” exclaimed Veronica. 

Violet nodded. 

“ Exactly so! I guessed I was going to be found 
out, and daren’t turn my head when you spoke.” 

“ Did you see the notes put into the drawer?” 
enquired Miss Beasley. 


286 The Madcap of the School 

“ No, but I saw them afterwards, lying just on 
the top of some other papers. I locked the drawer 
before I left the room, and put the bunch of keys 
inside the pocket of Raymonde’s dress, which I had 
on. I meant to tell her about it, but I forgot. She 
was in such a hurry when she came back, and said 
she’d be late for prep., so we each scrambled into 
our own clothes, and she tore off downstairs, and 
I went home.” 

4 4 This, unfortunately, does not bring us any 
nearer to the solution of the puzzle — what has 
become of the notes?” said Miss Beasley. 

“ Raymonde couldn’t have spent them in the 
village, when she had gone out before they were put 
there!” ventured Veronica. 

“And I certainly didn’t abscond with them!” 
declared Violet. “Though I really believe Ray 
thinks so. Confess you do, old sport!” 

Raymonde blushed crimson. 

“ I thought you’d taken them for a joke,” she 
said in a low voice. 

“Is that why you refused to explain?” interposed 
the Principal quickly. “You were afraid of getting 
your friend into trouble?” 

“Yes, Miss Beasley.” 

“ But what’s become of the wretched notes?” 
asked Violet. “They must be somewhere. Have 
you looked properly through this old bureau? I 
know these queer shallow drawers by experience, 
and things sometimes slip over the backs of them. 
Have you had the drawer right out? It’s stuck, 
has it? Oh, it probably only wants a good pull ! 
Lend me your key! Here goes!” 

Violet exerted all her strength in a mighty tug, 


A Mystery Unravelled 287 

and the drawer tumbled out with a jerk. She put 
in her hand and felt about in the space behind. 
There was a large hole in the back of the bureau, 
and her fingers went through it into a cavity in the 
wall. 

‘ i There’s something queer here!” she exclaimed, 
drawing out a round ball of shreds of paper. 
“ Mrs. Mouse’s nursery, if I don’t mistake! Sorry 
to intrude, but we’ll take a peep at the children!” 

Very gingerly she pulled aside the torn pieces of 
paper, and disclosed to view four little atoms not 
much bigger than bluebottles. 

“ Baby mice!” squealed the girls. 

“ Shame to disturb them, but I’ve got to examine 
their cradle. Ah ! what d’you make of this, now? 
If it isn’t a piece of a ten-shilling note, I’ll — I’ll 
swallow the babies!” 

“You are most undoubtedly right!” declared 
Miss Beasley, picking up the shreds of paper and 
trying to piece them together. “The mouse must 
have taken them out of the drawer to help to build 
her nest.” 

“Rather an expensive nursery!” chuckled 
Violet. “Well, I guess we’ve proved who’s the 
thief, anyway!” 

“ I am extremely obliged to you,” said Miss 
Beasley. “But for you, the matter might always 
have remained a mystery.” 

“And please forgive me for interfering. It was 
cheek, I know, to turn up in the attic, but I couldn’t 
resist the secret passage. I think this old place 
must be ripping as a school. I want to come next 
term. We’d intended to go home to New York in 
September, but Dad heard this morning he’d have 


288 The Madcap of the School 

to stay here another couple of years on business, so 
he said he guessed I’d best settle down and learn to 
be a Britisher. Would you have me here?” 

“That depends on whether your father wishes to 
send you to me or not.” 

“Oh! Dad’ll let me do anything I like, so it’s 
as good as settled. I’ll arrive with my boxes in 
September. Look here, it’s cheek again, but will 
you please not scold Raymonde for all this affair? 
It was mostly my fault.” 

“ Raymonde had no business to change places 
with you, and go to the village without leave,” said 
Miss Beasley, eyeing her pupil reprovingly. “ But 
I think she has been punished enough. She may 
take you downstairs now, and ask Cook to give you 
some cake and a glass of milk before you cycle 
home again.” 

“Thanks ever so! I came without my breakfast. 
I’m real hungry now. I’ll talk Dad over, and get 
him to write to you about my coming to school 
here. I’m dead nuts on it. Good-bye!” 

“ Well,” murmured Veronica to Hermie, as 
Violet, with a final squeeze of the Principal’s hand, 
made her smiling exit; “well, all I can say is that 
if this American girl comes next September there’ll 
be lively doings! Raymonde’s bad enough — but 
to have two madcaps in the school! I’m thankful 
I’m leaving!” 

“ I pity the monitresses !” agreed Hermie. 











































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